


Rare is the Sword

by jammcakes



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, Dragon Age - Freeform, Grey Wardens, M/M, What Was I Thinking?, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 38,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jammcakes/pseuds/jammcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi realized there was something that terrified him even more than an Archdemon.</p><p>[Dragon Age/Grey Warden Universe x SNK]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age/Grey Warden Verse SNK because canon apparently isn’t upsetting enough idk.

By the time the sign posts revealed that Rosenwall Keep was within range, Levi had almost completely rubbed out the crease that idiot courier had made: an arduous effort, given that the carriage's wheels seemed to find every crack and cobble in the road. After the fourth hour of working raw circles against the envelope, his thumb had grown a pinched red. "Should've just asked a sodding mabari to deliver the damn thing," the elf mumbled, finally looking up from the bent corner, "probably would've shown up in better shape."

Outside, several orange maple leaves shuddered against the glass window for a moment before an autumn breeze spiraled them down to be crushed by a passing trail of hooves and spokes. Levi inclined his neck just enough to be able to catch the occasional swish of a tail or flicker of an ear rolling in and out of his line of sight. The elf squirmed against the overstuffed cushion and the thick of his black hair fell around his face. The recruits and the rest of his party were following closely behind on carts and horseback beneath the open sky while he… he had the privilege of being wrapped up and crammed into this oversized nug oven due to some officer homecoming tradition.

The courier had shown up with the envelope and a mule drawn carriage outside their camp the night before their departure to Rosenwall. There was little explanation other than the elderly dwarven driver, who lifted his cap and smiled with what remaining teeth he had left before handing him a hastily quilled piece of parchment:

_First Warden sent it from Sina's Watch for your return home. Apologies, but indulge him for my sake. –E._

"Shall I relay a message back to the First for you?" Sina's courier sniffed and Levi responded by passing the note off to the nearest mage to set it ablaze _._

The only one who had been sourer about the request was Alida. Levi's filly had spent the first hour along the road back bucking the authority of her temporary handlers, and her rider was far from surprised to witness the sight of his temperamental palomino galloping free alongside the carriage sometime into the second hour.

"Mighty true friend you have there, _messere_ ," the old dwarf had chuckled through the coach divider.

"Indeed," the elf smiled, watching as a panicked Warden wrangled the horse back into formation, "a rare thing these days."

His driver was certainly grey, but no Warden. Even the servants stationed at Sina's Watch would've been informed by The First to address their passenger by his appropriate ranking. But if Sina's Wardens sent the socially naïve driver as a slight against him, then the insult was lost. There was no nosy inquiring of the business of his current trip, or any transparent flattery for past campaigns. The dwarf was silent for the better part of their journey, and any noise he did make came in the form of a light cough or a few hummed upbeat bars of what sounded like an old drinking song. No, he was definitely no Grey Warden, but the past few hours in silence almost made the elf ask if he would consider a change in careers. Some of his Warden-recruits could stand to learn something from this man.

The perpetual quiet was what made Levi's ears perk at the sudden quickening of hooves. A rider passed by the carriage widow, too swift for him to recognize. The hooves slowed to a murmur and the wood beneath the fat cushion creaked when Levi tried to lean forward for a better listen. Through the divider, he saw the dwarf's greying head bobble in a series of quick nods before once again catching a glimpse of the Warden, this time surging ahead at full gallop.

Before he could ask, his driver knocked on the screen with two large knuckles. "Pardon the disturbance again, _messere_. Your company wanted me to inform you that the caravan would be riding ahead. Something about keeping with proper introductions?"

"Ah yes," the weary passenger replied, rocking back to his original position against the scratchy tongue of the seat. The white envelope slid neatly from his hand into his lap. "Always with the appearances," he groaned, tracing a single fingernail around the edge of the blue wax seal emblazoned with the Wardens' roaring gryphon. He buffed his thumb over it to work out the bits of excess wax off. "Always with the damn appearances."

His company fanned out around the coach, a rising symphony of various encouragements from them as they spurred their mounts past. Jinn. Schultz. Ral. All of them morphing into frenzied blurs of blue and silver streaks, leaving him with the gentle blaze of falling orange leaves in their wake. Alida passed, now hitched next to what appeared to be Nanaba's black gelding. The filly gave a strong jerk of her flaxen head towards the carriage before submitting her complete focus on keeping up with the powerful speed that her partner and his rider had set. Soon, she was gone too.

With the horseback riders pressing forward, the snorts and squeals of the recruitment wagon came next. A pair of young brown stallions chomped alongside next, their hot breaths briefly fogging the window as they strained past. The large cart behind them rocked at a brisker pace, and the net of overlapping arms and white knuckled grips along its edges suggested that the recruits had to cope with the faster speed as well. Most had hunkered down so that only the tops of their heads were visible as scattered bushes of reds and yellows and browns; which was what made the sight of the boy sitting upright all the more unsettling.

A plaster skinned face, chiseled by a confident smirk, the boy's shaggy dark hair swirled like smoke up from the sharp green eyes that lay fixed straight ahead on their destination. Levi watched him as the cart passed. The recruit's name escaped him, but it didn't matter. He had seen that face before, and not just as one of Hange's sketches within the sealed recruitment files in his lap. No, he had seen that same face on countless others boldly taking the silver chalice filled with Darkspawn blood into their own hands, smile curling as they would raise it to their lips. This one, too, would also not be among the survivors tonight.

The cart lurched forward, but Levi caught himself by extending a long leather boot against the opposite seat. A crunch made him look down, and he saw with a breath of relief that the envelope in his lap bore no new scars from him to soothe. The wheels crackled with a much quicker tempo, and the drizzle of orange leaves slowed as they passed beneath a row of tall familiar pines. Had he been on horseback, he would've been able to count exactly how many beats it would be before the shade would give way to open sky, and with it—

The towering pillars of ivy straining for grand alabaster spirals, and the swooping arches inlaid with glass impressions of the flower held so dear by the fort's namesake.

"Rosenwall Keep," announced his driver, turning towards him as they clomped through the open gate. He touched the brim of his cap, and with the short-grey beard crinkling around his smile, he added: "Welcome home, _messere._ "

Fashioned under the intention of being the summer palace for the visiting _Orlesian_ crown, construction on Rosenwall had begun late into the Empire's sixty year occupation of Ferelden. However, once resources were redirected to quell the resulting rebellion, the keep had been left unfinished and eventually abandoned, after the Ferelden victors wanted nothing to do with the blatant eyesore of their enemy's architecture on their native land. The property eventually fell to the Wardens by a generous backer, who agreed to complete the project at less than a third of its original scale.

The renovation had married Ferelden practicality with Orlais' unique flair, and Levi found the coupling to be a pleasing result: plain white stone made the occasional accented gold feathered wing and rosebud glow with the afternoon sun; green lapels of overgrown ivy swayed by his carriage window, shaking as they passed under their perches beneath the simple arches leading into the courtyard.

"—And to think I spent three HOURS polishing my armor to receive Rosenwall's newest Wardens!" A voice blared as they entered the inner yard. "But I don't SEE any new Wardens here—just a bunch of BUG EYED freshly hatched FLEDGLINGS that look like they just woke up from a nice cozy nap!"

As usual, Levi heard Shadis long before he saw him, and when he did, he noticed that the Master of Horses had exchanged his usual riding leathers for full warrior regalia. Parried sunlight glinted across each segment of his silver breastplate as his equally adorned steed high-stepped around the circumference of the yard.

"WELL then consider this your wakeup call, FLEDGLINGS," Shadis continued, "Darkspawn don't need to SLEEP. They don't need to EAT, and they ATTACK when they damn well please. FOUR YEARS AGO—"

A strained note tugged at the man's brass chords. "Four years ago, a vagrant horde of Darkspawn besieged our stronghold at Maria's Vigil. The keep was lost; the surrounding villages completely obliterated."

Wrinkles cracked around the warrior's wide eyes, his quiet tone hardening, but equally startling. "I'll be damned. I'll be damned to seven hells and back before I let the same thing happen here. And my advice to you, fledglings, is that you start feeling the same. We don't have the natural defenses Sina's Watch has—YOU are ROSENWALLS. YOU are our main defense. So, I suggest you LEARN to ACT like it, and QUICK!"

Silence washed over the yard aside from the noise Shadis' mount made when he jerked his brown mane towards the carriage. Shadis' grimace was almost audible. "Now then," he said, "Now, that I have your full attention, I'm still sure none of you quite grasp the HONOR, the PRIVILEGE you little fledglings had to be recruited by one of our finest Wardens. Second to ONE within these hallowed walls, but I know even The Commander of the Grey would agree: Second to NONE on the battlefield."

A small rumble of agreement circulated outside, and the elf scoffed wondering how long Shadis had been sitting on that quip.

"Andraste would burn a SODDING thousand times again if it meant such a sword would guard her side in the next life: A sword rumored to have been sunk into the heads of a pair of Hurlocks for the sole purpose of gaining enough leverage to launch itself towards an Ogre's nape to take the head down in a single swipe!"

True, Levi thought, straightening the cuffs of his boots with a tug.

"AND I'd wager a dragon's SHIT weight in gold there's quite a few heads among us now that he also wouldn't mind sinking those blades of his into either." The courtyard roared.

"Also, very true," he muttered as he wrapped around the blue cloak that rested neatly folded in a pile next to him.

"REGARDLESS," Keith boomed, and the laughter immediately submerged. "Regardless…" he repeated quieter, "whatever prior or future grievances you may have during your time here…believe me, any Warden here would pillage the Seat of the Maker HIMSELF if they knew-"

Levi stood and checked the window's faded reflection to make sure his hair fell over the tips of his pointed ears.

"—that he was riding into battle alongside ROSENWALL'S CONSTABLE OF THE GREY, Levi Rivalle!"

The carriage door opened, and a collective thud of fisted salutes met him as he stepped out onto the folding step the dwarf had set out. The sunlight made him wince for a second. When he recovered, he first saw his riders: they were mounted and silent statues that had gathered beneath the shade of the arches. His eyes fell on Alida, still hitched to Nanaba, and the young horse fidgeted, but soon steadied after a sharp snort from Rift, the old gelding, corrected her. The recruits sat snug in their carts, and Keith Shadis had been more than accurate in the depiction of the wide-eyed "fledglings" that were fixed on him with their wind tussled hair.

Levi surveyed the yard once again before his gaze drifted up to the slope of the keep's tower where he could just make out the gold curtain breezing in and out of the open window, and beneath his cloak, the files crunched as his hand tightened around them.

Shadis trotted into his line of sight, snatching his focus back down. Both man and mount's mouths were pressed into a hard line as the horse gave a short irritated flick of his tail. Keith inclined his head forward, and Levi gave a rare prayer of thanks to the Maker for the chill of the salted gust that he took in with his breath.

"In Peace," he began, "Vigilance."

"In War," others joined in, "Victory."

"And in Death," they all finished together, "Sacrifice." He hopped down off of the cart's folding step, boots clicking against the cobblestone as he crossed towards where the wagon loaded with his recruits was parked. "It is the duty of a Grey Warden to remember that there is a great threat to this world: a threat that others have the luxury to forget about, and a threat that only we can challenge. Though," his voice dipped as he passed from one face to the next, "I doubt any of you will forget the things you've witnessed on your journey here."

Their backs curled uncomfortably away from him. The dark haired boy with unsettling green eyes, however, remained fixated on him, and again, Levi found himself staring back longer than he should have. "And…" he said, passing over the solemn faces that had once come so eagerly to him. _I'm sorry_ said the trapped breath in his chest, but his words corrected it: "…And I look forward to seeing you again tonight."

He turned, Keith barked, and the world unfroze around him. The courtyard burst into full bloom as garrisoned Wardens came out to intermingle and exchange stories with the returning scouts. Levi darted around the unloading carts, and the shuffle of mules and horses towards the gate of the keep's interior, where he found his riders busying themselves with their unpacking as well.

"Ral."

A petite red-head assisting with the unhitching of the horses immediately turned. Switching off the reins of the chestnut mare from her right to left hand, she saluted promptly. "Constable?"

Petra Ral wore light leathers similar to his own, and her grey tunic bore large clumsy stitches at the waist and thigh where it had been taken in. She was slight, especially for a human, with large hazel eyes reminiscent of his mother's. On more than one occasion, Levi had thought to ask the girl knew if she knew of any elven heritage, but a quick look at the round curve of her pink ears always made him think better.

Levi brushed the sides his head with the flat of his palms, "Once you've finished with the horses, personally see to it that our Dwarven guest's mules get fed and stabled for the night. Grab Shultz and tell him that I want the two of you in charge of tonight's preparations."

"Tonight's…" The girl's pitch dropped along with her gaze, and her saluted fingers began to fidget with the excess cloth bunched beneath them. Only when the mare she was attending to nudged the back of her neck, did she respond. "Yes Constable," she said, stroking the side of the horse's face, "I'll see to it at once. Shall…shall I tell them to expect the Warden-Commander tonight for…" She swallowed the word again.

"I don't know if the Warden-Commander will be attending The Joining tonight," Levi finished, shading his eyes against the sun to scan the length of the keep until he found the highest window in the fortress' uppermost spire, "I know he'd _like_ to but.. _."_

"But the Warden-Constable _will_ be attending," Petra recovered, easing into a gentle smile, "which means all of us will see to it that the Grand Foyer is spotless, and that not a hair is out of place. Maker willing…" She added as her horse scattered her bangs with a hot snort.

"It appears as though Tabris intends on making your work that much more difficult."

"As always," Petra laughed with a playful roll of her hazel towards her mare. "She rode well today, so I can't be _too_ mad. Poor girl is just tired, I'm sure."

The elf nodded and the girl gathered up Tabris' reins. No doubt the same was true for the rider as it was the mount. "Rightfully so," he said, taking a step backward, "I hope you don't mind if we put off our lesson until tomorrow."

"Oh! Of course not, Constable," she said, her grin outshining the dark circles beneath her eyes. "It's an honor to spar with you, always, Ser. Thank you."

She saluted once more and led Tabris and another mare towards the coach driver resting on the folding step. The elf's dark brows narrowed. Why the sudden interest from Sina in our recruiting efforts, he wondered, making his way towards the keep's interior. He glared up at the upper spire. More importantly, why was _he_ so insistent on it?

The stationed Wardens had adorned the inside of the Grand Foyer in dark satin banners for their homecoming. Statues of roaring grey gryphons held pots of freshly cut roses from the surrounding gardens; Columns of sunlight had erected themselves from the domed glass ceiling to the marbled floor, and Levi's fingers twisted around the envelope, desperate not to count the dust motes swimming about them.

Behind him, the door latch snapped open, "Constable, a word?"

Eld Jinn's young blonde face peeked around the half-open door. A crate of supplies was nestled in his arms.

"I'll allow you several if you walk with me," the elf called over his shoulder, pressing on through the hall.

Quick footsteps and the jingle of chainmail ricocheted over the hall as the tall youth bounded over to join his superior's side. "Appreciate it, Constable. I was wondering what you wanted to do about Ser Bozado."

Levi squinted. He couldn't remember seeing the rogue's sharp features among the others in the lineup. "What about Auruo?"

Jinn bit the corner of his lip. "He…well, while we were on the road, he got in his head that your ornery horse just needed a proper rider to calm down."

"Mm."

"It…went about as you would expect, Constable."

Levi was the one biting his lip now. "She tossed him?"

"Like a newborn-nug, Constable," Jinn coughed, brown eyes distant in the memory. "So hard, he actually skidded into the bushes along the roadside. Maker, I swear, Ral just about pissed herself laughing."

"I can imagine," the elf said, recalling the sudden uproar that had exploded the carriage. "Has he had a healer look at him yet?"

Eld thumbed the small patch of hair at the dip of his chin. "We got him into the infirmary wagon, and all the way back, he moaned, insisting that something was broken. Zoe eventually hopped up there to take a look at him, and said that, while he had a good number of bruises, the only thing broken was his pride."

The pair reached the foot of the first grand staircase and Levi paused. "And what does he want me to do about that?"

Eld sat the crate down and stretched his arms. His loose ponytail bobbled when he smiled and shook his head. "I'm not exactly sure myself, Constable. But he was adamant in wanting to make sure I made you aware of his 'condition' personally…in the dreadful case he would be unable to make it tonight."

"Oh, I see," Levi said, ascending the first step. "In that case, please relay that the Warden-Constable would be dreadfully disappointed should Ser Auruo Bozada be unable to attend tonight, as he is such a vital member of our team." A smirk quirked the side of the elf's mouth, "Will that suffice, or will he need the damn thing in writing?"

Eld's laugh echoed in the hall long after he had stopped. "Apologies, Constable. Maker knows the last thing Ser Auruo needs is physical proof that he can whip out to prove how amazing he is. No, no matter how bruised it is, I'm sure that should be enough to get his ass into the hall tonight." He bent down to pick up the supply crate and then saluted with his free hand. "You have my gratitude, Constable. Thank you again."

The elf nodded. "It's no trouble. Oh Jinn," he added before his subordinate could turn to leave, "make sure to remind everyone that it is in extremely poor taste for Wardens to take bets on which recruits make it through tonight."

Red singed the top of Eld's ears. "Oh. Of course, Constable," he replied, mimicking his superior's half smile. "Was—wasn't even aware of such a practice."

"Of course you aren't, Jinn," he said, raising a knowing eyebrow, "because if you were, I'd ask you to take whatever pool you had acquired, and donate it to the cart driver out in the courtyard."

The rest of Eld's face flushed. "Yes, Constable. I will…be sure to remind everyone of that. Right now." He saluted and departed, leaving both Wardens to resume their respective sojourns.

The Joining would not extend beyond the lower foyer, and neither did the decorations. The same long stone corridors he had left two months ago remained untouched by the festivities. Extremely untouched, he noted, looking back at the imprint his palm had made in the dust on the upper bannister. There was no carpet, no fur rugs to lessen the echo of his boots on the grey stone below him. Warm grey was what Hange's artistic eye had dubbed the shade, and pulling his cloak tighter against himself, Levi thought that there was no crueler name for a color.

The faint scent of smoke filled his nostrils as he turned the next corner. Though identical to the previous hall, he knew that the small pockets in these walls opened up to individual dormitories. His eyes narrowed from dim room to dim room until he saw where the reflection of candlelight played against the wall ahead. He slid his fingers to the top of the silverite dagger at his hip and slowed his steps to a creep. In his youth, he would've seen a chance with the rest of the keep busy as an opportune time to sneak a few coins out of an officer's room unnoticed. Perhaps, a few of the more roguish fledglings had snuck away from the rest of the flock and had gotten same notion.

The smell grew bolder once he was closer. He paused to look for the room's defining number on the door, and his muscles loosened a bit. With an invisible tinge of embarrassment, he saw the Chantry's golden sun blazing on the makeshift chapel door, and his hand slid from the dagger back to his side.

Less alert, but still keeping his steps soft, he passed by the open door where the towering statue of Andraste the prophetess, arms and eyes raised to the Maker, almost caused him to miss the sister that was huddled kneeling at her feet. The girl's peach Chantry robes swallowed her from the back of her pale hair downward. Incensed pooled around her as her tiny figure shook, muttering low words of fevered prayer. Another taller figure sat in the pew behind her. Levi squinted for a better look. She was a novice then, perhaps, and the other her Mother Superior?

It was only when the second figure turned its head that he realized he'd been extremely mistaken: dim as it was, the light from the offertory candles still burned strong enough to accentuate a skin that bore the color and texture of cracked mud and rose to taper off into two fine horns. The pair of lavender eyes sharpened into slits, and he knew then that the figure had seen him; but once her lips curled into a plump smile, he realized that she also didn't care. She looked at him for several more seconds and then turned her attention back to the priestess.

Levi stepped back from the door, the rose-scented smoke still stinging his nose. He undid the latch to the door to the upper tower. Of all the things he had expected to see in a makeshift chantry chapel, female qunari loitering about hadn't even crossed his mind. The door opened and several lyrium infused lanterns crackled to life, bathing the lean staircase in an unsettling, foamy blue light. The sharp hum they emitted made his ears curl. Still, it was better than having to lug up a candle or torch the entire way up, and he had to admit, Hange Zoe's innovation was brilliant, if not a little strange. Very much like Hange, he agreed at the top of the steps, and watched with mixed awe as each blue light simultaneously went out as though a soft breath had caused them to expire.

A sound that reminded him of gravel trying to whisper came from the hallway he entered. "-at –ch- then ra-gaa-er?"

He latched the door behind him without taking his eyes off of the closed room at the end of the hall. There was a pause and then the same mumbling continued, much less distinguishable this time. Levi stepped closer, reluctantly pushing back a bundle of hair behind his sharp ear for a better listen. He heard the wooden groan of a chair, another long pause, and-

"Pleasantries on our part will make little difference, in this case," said a voice that sounded as though fire and frost had refined its tone in equal parts. It sent talons digging into the elf's lungs. He pressed his back against the corridor wall, his fingers pinched the envelope again. Levi shut his eyes, ears no longer taking in each word's meaning, only the way their sound seemed to dive and soar as a hawk in hunt.

The rattle of a knob jerked his eyes open, and he slipped into a crouch behind the door. Mike Zacharias exited, his plain button down a sharp contrast to the formal attire the rest of Rosenwall's garrisoned troops had dawned today. He rubbed the scruff of his upper lip with a sniff, and then disappeared down the tower steps.

Levi caught the door with a curl of the toe of his boot and slid inside just below where he knew the Commander's line of sight to be, and the door shut behind him unceremoniously. He waited, pressing his weight ever so slightly up against the familiar dark wooden desk, and listened until he could hear only the scratching of a quill on rough parchment. Silently, he untied his cloak, carefully placing the large envelope within its folds. Levi felt a familiar jolt from his joints: a reflex signaled from their newfound mobility. It made sidling along the next corner of the Commander's desk even easier. Still only ink scratches came from the room, and the elf had to swallow the scoff building in the back of his throat. Along the wall hung the Commander's personal weaponry collection: bone thin staves, wide silver shields and broad swords. All smiled down at the elf menacingly, and he grinned back knowing that, as he placed his hand on his dagger, they would do their owner little good.

His legs knew what to do next. A quick jump and pivot brought the former assassin behind the desk, as a fluid arc of his arms caught his mark by the scalp, and simultaneously brought the silver dagger to the man's throat. A familiar cold shock registered in the man's blue eyes as the slender fingers that took hold of his hair tugged harder. The elf smirked down at the thin line of the man's lips. "You're getting sloppy, Erwin," he said, twisting the dagger so that it nibbled at the curve of his lower jaw. "Suppose I had decided today that I did fancy the Crows' price on your head after all?"

The cold shock melted from the eyes with a blink, and a small smile rose up from the corner of the Commander's lips.

"Oh. I see we're killing me again today."

The elf's eyes shot up to see that the voice came from a man identical in every way to the one at his mercy. He was standing in the doorway, and carried a small wooden caddy with the same neatly parted blonde locks that were entwined in the elf's hand; the very same that framed the sharp blue eyes and cutting smile gazing up at him. The only physical sign that distinguished the two was the silk green scarf that coiled around the standing man's neck. It made the elf finally look down to notice a strange silver dust glistening where the weight of his dagger had entered his mark's flesh.

Levi looked back up at the broadening grin of the man in the doorway, and his expression curdled. In an abrupt unison, he slammed the illusion into Erwin's desk, and thrust the dagger back to his side. "Sodding Magi," he growled as the trick burst into shimmering dust. "You've always said-!"

The man gave a small wave of his hand and the shimmer faded. "I know, I know: 'No illusions between us,' " he said and nodded to the small box in his hands. "I had only gone to get something out the storeroom downstairs, and forgot about the enchantment."

"Of course," Levi shook his head, hoping his hair shifted enough to hide the burning in his ears. "How convenient that you happened to step out when you did then. Which one of your crystal balls tipped you off that I was on my way?"

Erwin chuckled. "No, nothing like that. Just in the habit of casting it when I go out now, I suppose," he said, rounding to the chair behind his desk. "And I believe it was my Warden-Constable who was particularly stubborn that I take extra precautions during his extended absence."

The elf snorted, mirroring Erwin's movements to the chair on the opposite side. "Figures you would start listening to him while he's away," he mumbled, plopping down into the warmth of the leather seat. "Nice scarf, by the way."

Erwin's eyes flickered to the green silk swirled around his neck. "Thank you," he said, "Hange had given it to me a while ago. Says it's of Dalish make and has spiritual healing properties."

"Pfft," Levi huffed, scattering several black bangs from out of his eyes, "The Dalish believe their piss have healing properties."

The man's chest shook slightly with a low laugh as he settled down into his own chair. "Well, I can at least believe it keeps me warm."

"Well maybe if you didn't leave the window wide open you wouldn't—" the elf cut himself off with a sigh. He raised his eyes up to where the round window sat above a large wooden armoire, and noted the same faint swish of gold curtain he'd seen from below. "Never mind," he said, jerking his head towards the door, "what was Zacharias in here for? Unless he was…"

The mage nodded. "An illusion, as well: a bit of Chronomancy, actually, went into both of them. Looping a repetitive motion such as me writing was fairly simple, and I mainly used that for first couple of weeks. Replaying that conversation out was…a little messier. I'm sure you must've heard the words cut out a couple of times?"

"I did, but I didn't think anything of it. Assumed Shadis' yelling had finally gotten to my hearing."

Amusement curled the man's lips. "Yes, well…It's a work in progress. I digress," he said folding his hands together with a sigh, "I do appreciate you indulging in me in rambling on about magical theory crafting."

"It's my own fault. I was the one who asked, remember?" But Levi's smirk softened as he realized that most of the magi Erwin usually conversed with had been assigned the recruitment mission alongside him. "So, you and Zacharias had that same conversation at some point in the past then?" he asked, indulging the mage a little bit more.

The Commander's eyes widened. "Yes," he said in a low voice, "six days ago, in fact, and that is something we will need to discuss as we take care of the rest of our affairs."

Erwin stood and the elf followed his movements to the towering glass cabinet on the back wall. He eyed where a porcelain kettle and a set of matching cups meant to be held in the hands of Orlesian nobility sat on the third shelf. "Over tea?" Levi asked. He had been so used to seeing the finery set up prior to their chats that the sight of it behind glass doors was peculiar and almost sad.

"Not today, I think," the mage replied. He squatted in front of the cabinet's lower wooden drawers instead, and the elf straightened up in his seat, if just to relish the few moments he appeared to be taller than his human commander. He gained a new appreciation for the way the cloth of the casual blue tunic rippled down the long curve of his back. Levi looked for any sign of the mage's spellblade on his person, but the ripples smoothed and Erwin was standing again before he could see. "Today," he said, raising a small, curved bottle filled with golden liquid, "calls for something a bit stiffer."

Erwin took a step back. "And before you ask: Yes, I did wash these" he said, unscrewing the top of the box on his desk to reveal two small, silver goblets, "so you can stop making that face now."

He glanced up from fiddling with the cups to see that the elf's scrunched up nose still showed he was far from convinced. "A former sparring partner from the Chevaliers sent this up to me when I was named Commander of the Grey," Erwin continued. He rolled his palms over the base of the liquor and a white glow peeked out from behind his fingertips. "Apparently, it was incredibly popular two hundred years ago in Orlais: Empress Celene was believed to have been one of the first to enjoy it, taking it in her morning tea from time to time. Because of that, her court insisted that _Soleil du Celina_ always be served warm."The mage paused to unstop and dispense the drink evenly between the two mugs. Whiffs of fragrant steam lulled out as the warm liquid settled into the silver cups.

"And if I'm not mistaken," he said handing the goblet to Levi, "I believe that this drink goes by another, more colorful, colloquial name."

"Dragon's Piss," Levi answered, accepting the cup. His thumb circled around the warm lip of the goblet with a sniff. "Does he claim it was brewed in the Dragon Age as well?"

The mage took up the remaining cup. "Oh he does, but he also insists to be descended from the Empress herself, so take that as you will. In any case," he cleared his throat. "To you, Constable," Erwin said, raising the goblet to the elf, a rich warmness surrounding the blue in his eyes. "Welcome home."

Levi nodded and brought the drink to his lips. The liquid was sweet, rich with honey and cinnamon when it sat on his tongue. It was only when it slithered to the back of his throat that the honey turned to knives and the cinnamon, fire. A true Orlesian drink without a doubt, he thought, as what felt like freshly melted gold settled into his stomach.

"A bit too strong?" the Commander's voice asked, noticing the elf wince.

"Not at all," Levi rasped in between a cough. He set the drink down in his lap, and bent down to unwrap the neglected envelope from his cloak below the chair. "Besides, it's a hell lot better than what they'll be drinking tonight."

The hand holding Erwin's drink turned the color of chalk midway to his lips. It set aside the liquor immediately to reach over and accept the files from his Constable's hands. Levi drew his legs back up onto his chair as he heard the mage search his desk drawers for a letter opener.

"Sorry about the crease," the elf mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"Never mind," Levi answered back. He took another small sip once he saw the small blade in Erwin's hand slice through the wax seal. Several thick pages of parchment slid out filled with curves of dark charcoal and lines of fine ink. Levi watched as the Commander separated them out, his fingers touching the unmarked corners with a delicate reverence. He assumed that Erwin had to have known that his fellow mage, Hange Zoe, would throw a protective charm over her sketches before she would her own self, yet he handled them gingerly all the same. The Commander of the Grey leaned forward into his hands, and seventeen fresh recruits met him for the first time.

Levi tapped his finger against his goblet, but found the motion lacking the thrill he felt tracing over the golden fauna and feathers on the porcelain teacups. Erwin looked as though he was one of the stone gryphons in the lower foyer, his eyes and head tilting to take in each and every profile as his lips silently read their names to himself. He stared at each of Levi's neatly inked words as though they were physically part of the sketch, and followed every curved chin and thick line beneath an eye to see the words Hange worked in every stroke. Finally, the mage lifted his head and sank back into his chair. "Maker's breath," he swallowed, running his hand through the grain of his hair. "They look so damn young, Levi."

He had been trying not to notice these past two months, especially when those little fledglings looked up at him with their gaped mouths and wind ruffled heads outside. "They're still of age," he said, echoing the same hollow voice he had used on himself throughout the journey. "No conscripts either, Erwin. They're all here because they want to be here. Besides, it was you who told me not to turn anyone away."

The Commander rubbed the bottom of his face. "I did," Erwin said, his head lowered as though the words were a confession. He took a hard swallow of liquor and then took another look at the recruits. "Any in particular impress you?" he asked without looking up.

The elf rose to the tips of his toes as he braced his fingers along the edge of the desk. He looked down at the sea of parchment, scanning the upside down profiles until his eyes found her. "Ackerman," he said, tapping the corner of a soft-faced girl outlined by bold streaks of dark hair. "Unparalleled skill with a pair of short-swords in her hands; I'd say equal if not better to some of our own."

Erwin's brows rose. "Really?" he said, studying the girl's portrait more. "I'm inclined to ask what could've caused her to earn such high praise from my Warden-Constable."

Levi's hands balled against the wood of the desk into fists. His palms felt slick. "She provided a demonstration for us," he replied, keeping his voice steady.

"A demonstration?"

"Yes," Levi answered, neglecting to mention that the demonstration had actually been provided by the Darkspawn that had attacked their caravan; a demonstration in which Ackerman had leapt from the cart to the back of an attacking Ogre, and then proceeded to sever its grotesque head from its body in a single clean dual sweep. He remembered the firelight of their torches, how it lit the same calm profile on the table before him when it was caked in black ichor, and how she had silently wiped the bloodied blades along the side of her pant leg as though ringing a dishrag.

He pulled himself back from the bloody memory to see Erwin's blue eyes fixed on his own. "I see," Commander said, skin crinkling in the corner of his eye, but he said nothing further on the matter.

Levi bit the bottom of his lip and quickly pointed to another round face, where thin flecks of charcoal dotted cheeks to annotate where freckles were. "The First Enchantress at Kinloch Hold personally recommended her apprentice, Marco Bott, for recruitment. Said he passed his Harrowing only a few months prior, but was quickly advancing in his studies about entropic displacement…or something."

"A fine choice of study," the Commander agreed over the elf's agitated groan, "and he was fine with the First Enchantress' decision?"

"He was practically bouncing at the proposition," Levi said with a shake of his head. "Gave a really pretty speech about wanting to wholly serve the realm however he could, too. And I guess it must've been pretty damn inspiring," he moved his finger over to sketched pair of lightly shaded eyes above a handsome cut grin. "Jean Kirstein volunteered immediately after him."

"A Templar," the amused mage said, noticing where Levi had inked a black sword wreathed in flames over the frowning face Hange had penciled in beneath his name. "Interesting…"

Levi nodded. "The Knight-Commander said he was to take his final vows in a few weeks. Was really reluctant to let him go too, what with his full acceptance into the order being so soon, but she later admitted that she honestly never thought of the fidgety youth as Templar material. I believe her exact words were that he was getting a little too 'chummy' with his 'charges.' "

The grimace that crossed Erwin's features hinted of his own experiences in dealing with the magi guardians from his youth. "Yes, well, it's good to know things are still the same at Kinloch. But he fights decently?"

"He demonstrated good control and fighting form, I suppose."

"Ah," the Commander beamed, leaning back up at his Constable, "another impromptu demonstration, I see!"

The elf scowled at him. "His control over social situations," he continued, "has been reportedly somewhat lackluster. From what I've been told, he's already been punched. Twice. So, if you want to maintain accuracy, have Hange go back in and smudge a little more charcoal around his eye."

Erwin obliged him with a curt laugh, and looked back down at his bruised recruit. "Quite the menagerie you've managed to round up, Constable."

Levi brushed a stray hair from his eyes. "There's…one other thing I thought worth mentioning," he said.

The desk felt cool against his palms as he pushed his full weight up, and stared back down at the remaining faces. Immediately, he picked out the boy he had seen in the cart, and the actual subject might as well have been snipped straight out of Hange's sketch. His flesh bore the same hard lines above his brows, and had cradling hair made from short, strong strokes of deep charcoal. The elf squinted down at him with a significant pause, and then at last put his finger down.

"This one," he said, touching the corner of a slender graphite portrait directly adjacent to the bold-faced boy. "Armin Arlert."

Erwin's eyebrows knitted with a frown. "Another mage," he said skimming Levi's notes. "Circles rarely release more than one apprentice. Unless…" he looked up in time to see the elf affirm with a nod.

"He's an apostate, alright." Levi's voice dipped practiced and low, "and what I'm telling you now is that I _forgot_ to mention in the report to Sina that he's also an orphaned son of two suspected maleficarum."

"He's a Blood Mage then?"

The title rolled easily off the Commander's tongue, but even the calm of the trusted voice failed to make the words sound any more palpable to Levi's ears. " _The son of two Blood Magi_. He claims he would never resort to it after seeing how it twisted his parents," he glanced down to the skittish eyes Hange masterfully captured in her sketch, "but it's something to keep in mind."

"Yes, absolutely," Erwin said, and Levi's ears twitched irritably at amusement in his tone.

"What?"

"I'm just surprised," Erwin responded, "Impressed, really. A few years ago, I don't think you would've taken on a recruit associated with Blood Magic in any way, so to see this change in—"

"I haven't changed," the elf interrupted, and the Commander fell silent. He shook his head. "Not on _this_ , Erwin," Levi said, curbing his tone to be more mindful of his superior, "not ever."

The mage's mouth opened, but shut almost immediately with a small churn in his throat. "That's completely understandable. Forgive me for bringing it up," Erwin apologized, and the sincerity in his voice made the elf's gut twist guiltily. "No one else then?"

The rogue looked up at the mage again. "No one else," he echoed.

"Very good."

Levi retrieved his goblet and sank back down into his spot. One by one, faces disappeared into a single neat stack by the Commander's hands: their tips still un-kissed by charcoal thanks to the enchantment. From there, they disappeared back again into the envelope that the damn courier's clumsy fingers had put a crease in. Erwin held it for a long moment, and then let his eyes slide shut. "We'll see them in the flesh tonight, I suppose," he said, releasing the words with a pent up sigh, "…and hopefully most of them again in the morning."

Levi tilted his drink in agreement, gold liquor sloshing from one side to the other. "Seventeen will be drinking Darkspawn blood tonight," he murmured, shifting the cup again. "Awful as it sounds, we should get a decent amount from just sheer numbers alone."

The elf's sharp ear's twitched at the song of a drawer key turning. Erwin set Levi's recruitment files to the side and pulled out a thin string bound packet of paper. "Actually," the mage said, giving the string a tug, "there's _nineteen_."

He slid a single piece of parchment over to Levi, and the elf sat up to turn the rough page so that it faced him. It was grey in contrast to Hange's preferred beige, and the sketch's short precise lines made the picture seem fainter. He squinted down at the drawing and looked back up at the Commander. "Who-?" and then recognition set in. Though the room had been dim, and he had just barely seen over the back of her head, it was undeniably her. "This…this is that Chantry Sister."

"You met her?

He shook his head, still following along the soft slope of the girl's bangs. "No, just happened to see her as I passed the chapel on the way here."

A joyless smile tugged at Erwin's mouth. "Krista Lenz," he said with a soft clap of his hands, "was sent here a week ago via the very same carriage that escorted you here today—courtesy of The First Warden—with instructions that she is also to be named a Grey Warden alongside the rest of her peers."

The goblet in Levi's hand felt heavier. "You mean to tell me that a sister from the Chantry at Sina's Watch was sent _here…_ to undergo The Joining?"

"Not just sent, either" the Commander said, presenting a letter marked with The First's seal, "Ordered. She was _conscripted."_

"Conscri—" The rest of the word fell dumb on his lips. "Andraste's sopping clit," Levi breathed, reflexively sipping his drink. "What did she _do_?"

Erwin's shoulder's sagged. "Maker only knows, and Maker knows it's not my place to ask."

"And I'm guessing that ogress downstairs must be the second one then?" the elf grumbled.

The Commander pushed the second piece of parchment towards his Second-in-Command. "The _Qunari,"_ his superior's hard tone corrected, "calls herself Ymir."

"Ymir, huh," the elf repeated. Somehow Moblit's fine drawn arcs had managed to capture the same unsettling smirk he had seen from the low light of the chapel doorway. "You were impressed that I rounded up a Templar and Mage together. Meanwhile, Sina ships us a novice priestess and a sodding qunari female as conscripts."

The elf gave a short, dark laugh, but his smile faded when he heard the sharp hiss that rolled between Erwin's teeth. "Sina…doesn't know about the Qunari, then?"

"I don't believe so," Erwin exhaled. "She arrived on horseback a day after your intended carriage arrived here, and said she would put the entire keep to sword if we refused to make her a Grey Warden. So…"

A muscle in the elf's jaw twitched. "Sounds like a real keeper, Erwin," Levi spat, "I wonder why Sina wouldn't want to hear about such a fine upstanding prospect."

"I don't see why not," the man laughed, leaning forward to look directly into the elf's grey eyes, "I've had pretty good luck with recruits who have tried to off me in the past."

Levi's lips curled inward. "This isn't the same thing, Erwin! A Qunari- "

"It's the horns isn't it?" Erwin interrupted, and the tense scowl he got in response signaled he was on the right track. "Most demons don't have horns, Levi. The Chantry enjoys playing up that aspect to the further degrade the Par Vollen 'heathens.' "

"Maybe the Chantry says that demons like to part their blonde hair off to the side," Levi sniped back, and the mage chuckled in oddly good humor. "All I cared about was how Sister Regna used to give warm loaves of bread to the good little elves that sat through her entire sermon—but I digress," he said, jaw tightening, "is it really worth our necks to not inform Sina about this?"

Erwin nodded. "Mike and I discussed this earlier. You heard some of it, actually. In any case, there's no reason for us to complicate the matter more than it already is, especially when she may not even make it past tonight. If she does, she'll be as much as a Warden as any of them. But I'm not so naïve to think there won't be any consequences." The mage gave a small bow at the elf, "Hence why I was looking to soften the blow by graciously receiving The First's offer to send you home by traditional carriage, and hence why I sent Mike riding off to deliver the message for that dwarf to give to you."

Erwin shook his head, his eyes and tone softening. "Thank you for trusting me on that, by the way."

Levi's shoulders pointed and heaved. "Fine. She has your trust, she has mine. I guess. What else do you know about her?"

"That she can hurl an ax 100 yards," the Commander said, and with a slight narrow of his eyes added, "and that she's been stuck to that priestess' side ever since she got here."

"So, the Qunari might have had something to do with Lenz' conscription?"

"It's very possible," Erwin nodded, "but what she did for them to force her to take The Joining isn't what truly intrigues me: It's why would Sina send her here for it."

Erwin's inquiry struck the elf. The thought of what absurd crime the young girl must've committed had blinded him to the bizarreness of the whole situation: She was studying at a Chantry within a Grey Warden keep, and while Levi and the rest of the Rosenwalls all had their own doubts about the competency of Sina's Wardens on the field, surely even they could manage to squirt some blood in a cup. "Did they mention their reasoning behind this decision?"

Erwin lifted the First's letter by its corner. "Apparently, they thought Lenz would 'find the ceremony more meaningful alongside her peers,' " the Commander quoted, tone sounding far from convinced.

Levi scuffed the heel of his boot against the carpet. "Well, that's a shit answer."

Erwin rubbed his temples. "Nevertheless, it is their answer, and it's not like we have a better explanation."

The Chantry claimed that no other city held the Maker's favor as much as fair Sina did. Swaddled by mountains on either side, its citizens enjoyed a natural protection from invaders, and enjoyed reaping the shipping benefits that came from the rivers that split through the valley's gated passes. Overlooking the prosperous town, Sina's Watch had been hewn out from the mountains itself to be the residence of The First Warden after the Order had restructured itself. Fed on the prestige of their heroic past, Sina was quick to raise the stationed Wardens to a stone's skip away from nobility. Without a doubt, Sina's influence had assisted in making the Grey Wardens a desirable presence among Ferelden's people again, though Levi feared it was for all the wrong reasons.

"It wouldn't surprise me if they ran out of Darkspawn blood, to be honest," Levi prompted. "I don't think anyone behind those walls has even seen a Darkspawn in over three hundred years."

The Commander returned the comment with a sad smile. "No," he said, lifting up his drink. "We are not so fortunate with such a problem though, are we?"

Warmth fled from every part of the elf's body. His hands folded and dropped to his lap, silently hoping they anchored each other enough so that Erwin wouldn't notice the tremor running through them. The Commander of the Grey's goblet froze halfway to his lips.

"Levi," Erwin said with a slight turn of his head, "'No illusions between us' remember?"

His Constable swallowed and cleared the catch in his throat. "We ran across some during our scouting."

Erwin set his drink down and rested his chin on his hands. "How many?"

"Erwin—"

"How _many_ were there, Levi?"

Both tone and blue eyes cracked with an icy resemblance. Rosenwall's Warden-Constable recalled ordering their party to take a day of respite by the riverside for the sole purpose of scrubbing out every trace of Darkspawn blood from their clothes and weapons. Levi was fairly certain his silver short sword would forever bear a much darker tint from the stains of black blood that had swallowed it during their encounter.

"About twenty," he said. The elf grit his teeth together, careful not to accidentally add "at least" on the end. "Stragglers from the Deep Roads."

Heavy lids fell over Erwin's eyes as his gaze moved from the elf to the window above his office. "You and I both know-"

"No," the elf interrupted, but Erwin only spoke over him.

"That camps of twenty or so Darkspawn—"

"No," he repeated.

"—several hundred miles from the nearest Thaig —

"No. No, no."

"— don't count as 'stragglers' anymore."

"It's NOT a BLIGHT, damn you!"

Levi was standing, the dark wood burning beneath the flats of his palms from the impact of being slammed onto Erwin desk. He dipped his head, almost apologetically, and exhaled a shaky breath.

Erwin sat, hands folded neatly against his beige slacks. "You and I have been dancing around this discussion for far too long, Levi," the Commander said quietly. "We ignored it four years ago, and we ignored it two months ago: We cannot afford to sidestep it any longer."

The elf pushed back a fistful of black bangs from his face. "There's nothing to discuss," he said calmly. "There's no evidence that indicates these Darkspawn attacks are anything other than random raids. The First hasn't officially-"

"The First doesn't need to say it's a Blight for us to know it is one," Erwin cut in, "and I've never known you to trust in his judgment before."

"Then I do on this matter," Levi said straightening up to look directly at his superior. "If he didn't think the raid on Maria's Vigil four years ago was proof, then there's no way he'll change his mind over a random encounter on the road."

"Perhaps if it was just the raid and just the Darkspawn on the surface then, yes you're correct," Erwin admitted, "but that doesn't excuse the dreams about the Archdemon."

Levi's stomach twisted. "You've…been having them?"

Taking on Darkspawn blood was hardly free of any consequence. Those who survived The Joining were forever linked to those they had been sworn to fight against, and such a connection provided the Wardens with unique insights into the minds of their foes. They heard their "song," the call of a corrupted Old God: an Archdemon. Taking on the form of a great dragon, an awakened Archdemon would lead massive hordes of Darkspawn from the underground for the sole purpose of the complete annihilation of every living thing. Thedas had enjoyed an uncomfortable two hundred years of "peace" since the last Blight in 9:31 Dragon, but now…

Levi shook his head. "Mages are naturally more attuned to the realm of dreams than most," the elf countered, "for all you know, it could be just be some spirit messing with your mind."

To his surprise, the Commander nodded, and the knot in Levi's insides began to unravel. "That is a theory that I have also considered."

"Good."

"In fact," Erwin said, leaning back with his eyes still trained on the elf, "that was what I believed to be true—what I wanted to be true—for the longest time. Which is why I want to ask you, Levi: When did _you_ start having those dreams?"

A snarl tore through the elf as he leapt at the mage, masking any sound the silver goblets and loose inkpot made upon hitting the carpet. The Commander's chair reared up on its hind legs, its back slanting against the armoire from the precarious addition of the weight of the rogue's body. A pair of uneven blades glinted on either side of Erwin's head, splintered wood fountaining where the tips had sunk in. Levi's knuckles burned white around their grips, his body curved like a gargoyle's over his superior.

"How dare you," the elf spat, digging his right knee into Erwin's hip. "How dare you sit up here and act like you know every sodding thought that goes through my head because of your damn…magic."

He squeezed one of the half submerged blades causing flecks of sawdust to land on the Commander's shoulder. Erwin's eyes never wandered from the elf's face, and moved his hands only to adjust the silk scarf that had gone askew over his shoulder. Levi ground his knee in deeper.

"You sit up here and talk shit about Sina not doing a damn thing, while you send me out spinning around Thedas to deliver this flock of fledglings to you who, after tonight, will never see beyond their forty-fifth name day—if—IF they're lucky. And now you expect—"

He slid the dagger in his right hand down until it was at eye level with Erwin, a pale scar following its trail down the armoire. "DON'T," he snapped at the hand just shy of touching his cheek, and the Commander pulled away.

"What I expect," Erwin said softly, returning his hand to his lap, "is your support, Levi. On this, as you have done on everything else I have asked of you in the past."

The elf's nostrils flared. "You're a sodding idiot, Erwin Smith if you think for one second I'll play along with this to convince Sina's First there's a damned Blight running around."

"I'm not worried about convincing The First," the mage said, tugging at the bottom of his loosened scarf. "Right now, I just want you to look me in the eye and tell me you've never dreamt of the Archdemon." He jerked his head. "Convince me. Look at me and tell me there's no Blight."

The Warden-Constable gave a frustrated growl as he shifted himself to match the angle Erwin had twisted to. His eyes narrowed and he replied in a hard whisper, "There. Is. No. Bli—"

The elf's bottom lip hung open. _Look at me_ his Commander had ordered, and he did. Down the taut line of light skin to the thin green border where the scarf began: to where a portion of Erwin's skin had mottled to a scaly grey.

Levi's hands slipped like stones from the handles of his blades. He shoved the rest of the scarf off the side of the Commander's shoulder. It was as wide as the elf's thumb, but thinned to a pointed tip. He tried to think of the times he had seen Hange's face smeared with charcoal, thought of every bruise and broken bone he had witnessed on the battlefield, but the only image that repeated in his mind when he stared at it was the black ichor that he wiped off his swords and clothes so many times before.

The elf's mouth closed to swallow. "How long?" he rasped.

"A couple of days ago," Erwin replied, the edge of his mouth lifting. "This Grey Warden business has a habit of catching up with all of us-"

Levi struck the side of the mage's face so fast that it wasn't until he felt the sting of the punch bite at his knuckles that he realized he had done it.

"You bastard," Levi rattled, flexing his fingers, "you promised…you sodding promised."

"It's still just the beginning stages," he said, wiping a sliver of blood from the swollen corner of his mouth. "It could be years before my Calling."

"You promised," the elf repeated, "you bastard, you promised me that we would go together."

The Commander shifted around the pressure of the elf's knee. He reached to turn the rogue's chin to face him, but stopped before he could touch him. "Levi," he said, hoping to pull his Constable's gaze from the patch of discolored flesh. "Levi," he said again. "If you think Blood Magic played a part in how I knew about your dreams, you're mistaken, Levi," the mage assured him. "No, I knew you had to be having them from the way I felt you shake next to me in your sleep."

"And," Erwin continued, "I looked at this magnificent creature that I've had the privilege to shed blood with—to share my bed with—and I asked myself: what in seven hells could possibly reduce Levi Rivalle to a shivering heap?" He shook his head. "To think I asked, even when the answer came to me every night."

The mage's swollen lip curled inward. "I owe you an apology, Levi: For all the nights I felt you stir awake and watched as you sat there, hunched over, shivering at the edge of the bed. It was…comforting," he admitted, a twinge of disgust entering his voice, "to know that I wasn't struggling with this by myself; but I realize now, in my silence, I denied you even that small solace."

Levi lifted his chin, his eyes still not meeting Erwin's and the Commander held out his hand again. "No illusions between us," he whispered.

Grey irises slid up to match the mage's own, and with them, the rest of the elf's wilted posture pulled itself upright. Then, with a small bow of his head, he pressed his cheek into Erwin's open palm. "I know it's a Blight, damn you," he croaked.

The mage's other hand fell to the other side of his face. "You do not fight this alone," Erwin said, running his thumbs over the curve of Levi's cheekbone, "It was cruel not to tell you sooner-"

"No, I knew. No one wants to say it, because no one wants to hear it." He closed his eyes, "Maker's throbbing cock, though, Erwin. A sodding Blight…"

"I know."

"I mean," Levi sighed, "Our Wardens can't even properly dust the upper foyer. How are they supposed to take down an Archdemon?"

A half-smile rounded Erwin's cheek as he waited for his Constable's serious countenance to break. When the elf only stared back, the man began to laugh.

"It's not funny, Erwin," the elf growled into the bottom of the mage's wrist, but Erwin continued, the sound not so much joyful, as it was relieved. "No one's probably touched it since two months ago, I'm willing to bet. The lack of dedication to a simple task doesn't exactly bode well for world saving soldier material and—damn you, stop it."

He lifted his knee to nudge Erwin in the stomach, but his balance slipped so that the chair fell rightfully back on all four legs. His own fell right alongside the Commander's thighs. Levi bristled, but when he moved to correct his positioning, the hands holding his face instead pulled him forward.

"You'll find a way to rally them," Erwin said, the echoes of his laughter still wrinkling across his stern features. He pressed a quick kiss to the pinched skin between the elf's narrowed eyebrows and added, "From what I understand, you'll be leading a raid on The Seat of the Maker soon."

The rogue groaned, "You heard all that shit Shadis was saying before?"

"It would be more of a feat to _not_ hear the shit Shadis says," Erwin replied, and Levi acknowledged the quip with a quiet, appreciative snort, "and I actually heard him practice that speech several times in the courtyard earlier this week. Anyway, regardless of how it was said, what he said was true."

"Tch," Levi scoffed as he tried to ignore the warm mark left from where the mage's lips had touched him, "somehow I doubt that."

He bent his head forward, allowing Erwin to rest his chin on top. "Mmhmm," the mage hummed thoughtfully, and the words in his throat vibrated pleasingly against the elf's forehead. "When my father thought me to follow in his footsteps as a Chevalier, he once told me: 'Rare is the sword that can stir the hearts of men into battle without threatening to drive it through them first.' Looking back, I think he meant it teach me that men will rarely fight without the threat of serious consequences." He kissed the top of Levi's head. "But you," he said, nuzzling the words into a mess of black hair, "you have that rare gift."

"Gift," the elf huffed, pulling back from Erwin's neck with a squint. "It's not inspiration that drives them. It's pride." He glanced down. "I suppose as long as it motivates them it shouldn't matter, but be realistic Erwin: No soldier, no matter what their background is, wants to get shown up by some knife-ear from the trash heap."

"I don't believe that," the mage said. He cupped Levi's chin with his thumb to lift his face back up to his. "And you don't either. Things were different these past two months. There was a certain…unease in the keep without you here. Maker, I can't remember a meal where I didn't have at least someone approach me to inquire about the latest word concerning the Warden-Constable's return."

Levi had been sure of one thing Erwin said: the last two months were different. Not necessarily difficult, but definitely different. The thick of a fight was where Levi felt most comfortable. There, orders pumped through him as natural as the blood in his veins. Battlegrounds weren't the problem—campgrounds were what intimidated him.

He had spent the night before he would be in sole command going over the itinerary Erwin had mapped out for him. Waiting, dreading how he would handle the flux of people he had seen march into Erwin's tent on so many prior campaigns before; and would watch, bewildered, as the Commander handled every insignificant problem the camp trudged up in an efficient, polite stroke that would've rivaled a Chevalier's killing blow.

But he had only one visitor drop by his tent after their first camp: Petra Ral had shown up after the long day's ride, face almost as bright as her hair, but highly spirited when she humbly asked if they could continue their sparring lessons as they had back at the keep. For the first time since the Commander had informed him that he would be on this expedition without him, Levi had relaxed a little. Petra's determination to better herself in close combat had inspired the other riders to take up arms and practice. Scrimmages managed to open the ground up to amicable conversations that lasted until well after sundown, and some that even bled into the next day's ride. It was different from discussing tactics and strategies, and while the elf was starting to see the merits of this type of lesson, he still preferred a good brawl to be his teacher any day.

And yet… Yet it never had taught him that Auruo woke up an hour before sunrise to fletch his own arrow heads; that Petra wrote to her father in Redcliffe at the end of each week and before every battle; that Eld had a girl he was sweet on in Denerim…and in Lothering…and in at least one of the Free Marches. By the end of the trip, somehow knowing that Gunther's Great-Grandfather had been a Grey Warden too, and that Hange Zoe knew over twelve different ways to season roast nug—and insisted that he try every combination at least twice before they were back to Rosenwall— felt oddly just as important as knowing how to disarm a foe, or strike a fatal blow.

Levi's spine tensed as Erwin twisted several strands of his hair behind the sharp rise of his ear. "You're quite the leader, you know?" the Commander said genuinely. "Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, I know that seeing you makes them feel safe. Strong."

"Is that what that look is?" the elf grunted, desperate to distract himself from the way his cock had jerked once the mage moved to stroke just behind his earlobe.

They had been the first ones he had seen outside the carriage. Their salutes may have been as perfect as carved statues, but their faces lacked the same plaster he had seen mask over that one dark haired recruit. Perhaps it had just been the angle of the afternoon sun, but there was indeed something that looked back up at him when he passed from face to face. Confidence. Trust. Devotion: things he had always known to be between them, but had just never shined quite like they had during this homecoming.

Levi tilted his head. "And what of Rosenwall's Commander of the Grey?" he inquired. "Is that what he feels when he looks at me?"

The hand stroking his ear stopped, and the mage matched the slant of the rogue's head. "I feel…a confidence that goes beyond confidence," Erwin answered, his voice crackling fire through the elf's chest. "A trust that goes beyond trust, and…"

Erwin's lips parted slightly, his loss of words more charming than any verse Levi could've heard him say. The mage rolled his knuckles down the side of the elf's cheek, his eyes wide and seizing him as though he was the first real thing he'd seen after wakening from a dream.

"…and when I look at you, I feel as though I have the strength to slay an Archdemon," he said wondrously, and pulled the elf's lips to his.

Levi met the Commander's advance with a growl born partially out of irritation, but mostly from raw frustration. From two sodding months, he reminded himself, pulling back just enough to bite down on the bruise emerging in the corner of the man's lip. Erwin's fingers flew to his hair, the mage's short fingernails digging into his scalp until he at last pried the elf off of him with a satisfying grunt. For a breath, Levi's head was angled up, his pale neck curving back like one of Rosenwall's high arches, and then, Erwin was on him again, dotting the taut skin over Levi's jaw with quick, hard kisses.

The back of his head burned as Erwin's hand tangled itself deeper into the dark locks, tightening whenever the elf squirmed in resistance. Eyes still forced on the office ceiling, Levi struggled in an agitated grace to reach for Erwin's arm. His fingers curled around the mage's larger wrist, and slid down the length of the mage's forearm and its fair, short hairs in several slow strokes.

"Shit," the elf hissed, as his balanced waned beneath the unexpected roll of Erwin's hips. For a moment, he had felt the firm warmth of Erwin's cock press against him as his weight slanted far too much over one side of the mage's thighs. His feet twisted into the black leather of his boots, kicking furiously to try and right himself before he felt Erwin release his hair to catch him from behind his shoulders.

The motion flung Levi forward, his head bowing against the human's with an innate reverence. He felt the broad chest before him rise with long, poised strides; a stark contrast to the feverish puffs of the elf's own. Color burned from the elf's nose through the tips of his ears, and he set to work undoing the confines of the mage's beige trousers, pulling and unlacing, until the fabric gave way to warm skin and fine coarse hair and—

The hands on his back seized the elf's shoulders and pulled him upright. Levi stumbled, the heels of his boots grinding frantically into the mage's thighs for balance as his body struggled to figure out how to stand. Hands traveled down from his back and grasped him by the hips, steadying him with a little squeeze at his thigh.

"Erwin—"

"Shh," Erwin reassured, unbuckling one of the snug belts at the rogue's waist. "I've got you, you're fine."

The elf's snort sounded more akin to a sob as the second belt fell neatly to the floor. Erwin's thumbs hooked over the hem of the dark grey leggings and drew Levi close so that his nose dug into the elf's navel with every kiss and nip he thrust in around his abdomen. Warm breath fanned out over wherever his voice buried Levi's name into every inch of skin he unveiled beneath the leather he rolled down. The rogue concentrated on wandering his hands through the finer, darker hairs that were pricked with perspiration from the mage's nape, and arcing himself just enough to assist the mage's efforts to free him, and—

He swore in one of the few true elven words he knew into the top of Erwin's hair as his cock curled free against the sweat stiffened cotton of the mage's tunic, and felt the Chevalier forged muscles stir beneath it. They were far less practiced in their strides then they had been before, the elf had noticed; at least, until Erwin withdrew to focus his attention instead on gently scraping his teeth over the skin just above his left hip bone. Levi groaned, not realizing he had been whimpering the mage's name softly until Erwin whistled another shush again, this time his lips cinching the sound by grazing the tip of his cock's swollen head.

A tug at the base of his shaft pushed Levi's body over the mage's completely. The hands that had had been so nonchalant at his neck now clawed furiously at his back, turning the small ripples he had admired previously on the fabric into strong, bold waves. Balance came oddly easier with each firm stroke, allowing the rogue to rock the brunt of his weight from the tips of his toes to balls of his feet as Erwin guided him through a steady, even rhythm. There was a confidence in his ministrations, and one that the rogue could never quite seem to mimic during his own evening attentions. Though, these weren't hands that just held swords: they knew fire, summoned ice, and weaved surges of lightning with a simple twist. No, he panted into the rolls of the tunic, a mage's hands were no stranger to handling primal forces.

The small breeze kneading into his nape reminded him of the Commander's open window above them. Levi's eyes drifted up, a lazy smile half-parting his lips as he saw the pastel evening light blanketing over them. The gold curtain still flitted in and out, and Levi recalled how small the thing had seemed from the courtyard. Yet, here… up here it was close enough to touch; almost close enough to reach, close enough to—

Grey eyes slipped shut just as the curtain slid out of his line of sight again, and he released a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding along with everything else. With a low cry, Erwin's arms tightened around the elf's back, pulling him close so that there was nothing to separate them as the rogue's hips bucked and spilled between them. Evening dissolved around Levi into a warm, dizzying sheet, and the blue cotton shirt was still balled beneath the curl of his fingertips. He hung against Erwin in an awkward, off centered embrace, relaxing on top of the mage's paced breathing so much so that his knees began to buckle and slip. Instinctively, he clawed weakly into the mage's back.

"I've got you," he heard Erwin reassure again, squeezing the elf slightly with a choked chord in his throat. "You're fine, I've got you."

Levi nodded into the crook of the mage's neck, and slid back down into his lap, a limp arm draping over the mage's shoulder for support. Erwin's skin smelled like home: lightly salted by costal breezes and tepid as an overslept morning. In his absence, he had almost forgotten this comforting scent that he had grown so accustomed to being around the keep, on their bed sheets; on himself. _This magnificent creature I share my bed with_ , Levi snorted thinking of the mage's own words and eyeing the twitch in man's strong jaw and mussed hair. Not so bad yourself at times either, he thought, burying his flushed cheeks deeper into him.

Thighs and legs twisted underneath him, and the elf looked up to see a hint of a quiver touching the Commander's bottom lip. Levi guided his free hand down the line of Erwin's torso, and watched the man's mouth part when the tips made contact with the slick exposed head of the erection the mage was attempting to soothe.

"Do you want me to…?" Levi said, taken aback at how distant his voice sounded.

Erwin shook his head. "No," he said, turning to kiss the elf's cheek, "Don't worry about it. Rest now."

Levi scoffed into the sweat of Erwin's neck. "Idiot," he whispered, skimming a finger along the edge of his slit, and coaxing a throaty moan from deep within the mage's gut. He twisted his wrist so that his hand fanned out over as much as he could cover of Erwin's own, fingers tracing along large worn knuckles while the mage attended to himself. Hardened scabs he hadn't recognized had settled between the valleys of his knuckles, and Levi frowned wherever he felt where pale flesh had begun to stitch over the wound. No wince from Erwin as he prodded the wound, though the man was somewhat distracted at the moment. The elf pushed the discovery from his thoughts, and clamped his palm over where his lover's cock still peeked out.

Erwin lurched into him, and Levi lifted his head just enough to see the man's face contort, lips purse, and eyes flutter. Through half lidded eyes, Levi watched the blonde head tip back in a relieved gasp, and felt him come gently between his fingers.

The mage swore in a dark apology, barely a second passing before Levi felt cool green silk thoroughly wind its way through the grooves of his own hand. He was dry in moments, save for the kiss Erwin promptly burned into his lifted palm. "Sorry," he murmured against the skin again. "And thank you," he panted, head slipping limp against the armoire again. "Thank you."

Levi smirked and swiped at the mage's skewed bangs in a feeble attempt to correct them. Erwin's quick breaths were gratitude enough for him, and felt just as pleasant as any sea breeze ever had on his skin. The Commander's eyes had snapped shut to two thick lines of dark lashes beneath a mop of ruffled hair. Levi suspected he probably didn't look much better himself, but his own clothes at least seemed somewhat salvageable. However, the stains of sweat and other emissions that dotted up and down the mage's front were an execution sentence for Erwin's current attire.

After a particularly grueling battle had sunken blood into the rogue's favorite leathers, he had gone to Erwin and asked if magi had any sort of spell to purge such potent stains from clothing. "We do," Erwin had smiled to the eager elf's face, "but we just call it 'Fire'."

Levi had insisted on doing his own laundry after that.

"Ah," he heard Erwin say, and Levi looked up to see that the mage was still smiling upwards at the ceiling. "I suppose we should take those down."

Levi's short sword and dagger still grinned dangerously from their embedded perch in the armoire door. "Ah," the elf mimicked, "yes, that might be a good idea."

"Mmm," the mage agreed, straightening up properly. Several wisps of fair hair fell into his eyes. "It's starting to get late isn't it?"

The elf nodded. "The Joining."

"Right," Erwin exhaled. "We do need to get ready for that." He gave a small squeeze to the rogue's thigh.

Levi swung his legs over and pressed one foot to the carpet to test his stability before moving on to the other. He gripped the back of Erwin's chair and pulled himself up, his limbs feeling as though they hung from his body by slim threads. Behind him, he heard Erwin stand as the elf knelt down to collect his belts. A dark spotted trail revealed where the inkpot had rolled off the desk to the other side of the room. A silver gauntlet had joined several stray papers under the desk, while its twin dripped drops of Dragon Piss onto the carpet floor. Levi frowned and made a mental note to wake up an hour earlier to give the room a much desired scrubbing.

He rose too quickly and the dizzying aftereffects of hard liquor and hasty sex caught up with him. He managed to brace his body up against the armoire before he could truly, fully stumble.

"You alright?" he heard the mage ask, and the elf internally swore at the dull thud his hand had made on the cabinet.

"I'm fine," he answered back, looping the leather strap around his waist. He did the same with the second, and then turned to retrieve his blades.

"Good," Erwin said, pulling the soiled blue tunic over his head. "A bit of warning though: it hits a bit stronger the following morning."

The elf plucked his dagger from the splintered wood with a snort. "Awfully confident," he muttered just loud enough for Erwin to hear, and the mage laughed.

"I meant the liquor. It wasn't called Celene's Sunrise just because she had it in her morning tea. Maker's breath," he said, rolling the green scarf and shirt up in his arms, "the sunlight feels like a charging ogre the following day, and—oh, your sword is on the desk."

Levi's gaze pivoted to where Erwin had gestured, and he was silently thankful he would not have to attempt to collect the blade by climbing the unsteady chair in his current state. He slid it back into the scabbard just above his lower back. "Appreciate it," he replied, and looked down the dark scuffs that the friction of his boots had left on the man's trousers. "It's full formal attire tonight correct?"

"So says tradition," the Commander of the Grey said with no attempt to hide the exasperation that entered his tone as he crossed to the door. "Would you mind locking up for me?"

"Shouldn't be a problem."

Though much of his clothing lay wrapped up at his side, and several light hairs jutted from of their part, Erwin stood as Levi had seen him enter earlier. Over the years, he had come to know the majority of the scars and marks that had branded the Commander's chest: knew the long thin ones on his arm to be from his days in the Chevalier court; that the reddened slab across his hip was from when the inexperienced mage had summoned searing flames for the first time in his youth; and that the several white nicks around the neck and throat were by the elf's own hand. But the unnatural twist of the shadowy slash of taint on his shoulder…Levi knew he'd never grow accustomed to the sight of it, and his stomach jolted to a similar angle whenever he looked at it.

"Erwin," Levi said, and the mage whirled around in the open doorway to face him, "what you were saying to me before we…before, about the Archdemon."

The mage only gave a cordial dip of his head. "You won't fight it alone, Levi," he repeated quietly.

"That's not what I—"he started to say, but the door had already cinched shut.

 _It is the duty of a Grey Warden to remember that a great evil exists in this world_. His words came back to him once he had rounded the desk to collect the navy cloak he had discarded earlier. He drew the spun wool back over his shoulders and loosely knotted it at his chest. _A threat that only we can challenge…_

An image of the great beast he saw whenever he shut his eyes swirled into his mind. A maw of needle thin teeth that snapped up the faces of children from the alienage he had grown up alongside; massive wings that clapped and reduced Rosenwall's proud walls to rubble; a song in its bellow that sang to his veins as though he was one of its own, turning his blades dull, and his limbs stone. Impotent, unable to fight, and even if he did…

… _And when I look at you, I feel as though I have the strength to slay an Archdemon_.

The muscles in Levi's hand tightened as he turned the lock on the office door. He glanced back at the disheveled room: at the dust sleeping on the weapon rack, and the stray papers an invading breeze pushed along; at the long pale scars the armoire bore, and at the chair pulled out halfway behind the Commander's vacant desk-

And as the door shut behind him, Levi realized there was something that terrified him even more than an Archdemon.

###


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t joke about those things.” He moved away from the source light with a shiver, and the monstrous shadow broke apart at the nape. “We’re halfway through the Titan Age, and I’d like to get through the other half without ever seeing one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind words and kudos so far (I’m going to work at being worthy of them)! Updates should not be as infrequent now that I’m done with graduation portfolio projects and *coughInquisitioncough*
> 
> EDIT: My dear talented Sochi surprised me with a beautiful rendition of [that sodding magi & Commander of the Grey, Erwin Smith.](http://sochineya.tumblr.com/post/110778077903/a-pic-i-think-i-can-finally-call-done-if-not-as/)  
> Please do check out all of her beautiful works on tumblr if you get the opportunity!

It was strange to visit the Warden-Constable’s chambers before the evening lamps were doused. Levi rarely frequented it now that it was his own, and most of the furnishings he’d known over the years had moved, along with Erwin, to the Warden-Commander’s room in the upper spire. Every now and then, he felt a touch of remorse for leaving his quarters somewhat neglected, as its location tucked apart from the rest of the dormitories made it somewhat of a quiet luxury. 

Worse still was the tightening in his chest of half expecting Erwin to be in his old room whenever he opened the door: the mage with his arms crossed behind his back, head half turned looking out the balcony window, or bent forward over his desk with lips moving along with the words of whatever he was reading. Only the phantom swish of curtain and the deserted corners where desk and bookshelves had stood greeted him now. Levi rubbed at his right shoulder and reminded himself that he had just seen those very things in a different room. They were all still here; Erwin was still here.

As was their old bed, he noted, unwrapping himself from the blue woolen cloak. A thick black bear pelt lounged over the base of the comforter: a signal, equal to that of the warning colors of the leaves outside, that preparations for the onset of colder nights were upon the Wardens. Ferelden lay in the south, and that meant its winters were far from mild; and that it took a great deal of coaxing during especially chilly mornings to find the motivation to break away from the warm tangle of blankets and flushed skin. Levi ran a hand through the dark fur, pleased to find it free of the dust it should’ve collected during storage. If Rosenwall’s Chantry sisters were as pious in their devotion to the Maker as they were to their laundry duties, they might just make a believer out of the elf yet. 

Apart from its location being an additional boon when Erwin served as Constable, the room held two additional amenities the elf had come to enjoy. The first was the outdoor balcony that opened up over the smallest of Rosenwall’s flower gardens. Its design, Erwin had mentioned once, was a particular Orlesian touch; not so much in its aesthetics, but in its purpose to mask the stench from the nearby stables. A design, the former Chevalier commented, that was equally prevalent in the country’s social politics as it was in its architecture.

But as amusing as the shit-masking flower garden was, the room’s most important feature  was the latched wooden side-door, that marked it as one of the few with internal access to water: a pump and its accompanying metal basin were truly what the Warden-Constable had returned here for.  He gave it a few pushes to test the pipes, and used the water to collect whatever residual grime remained from the tub’s previous uses before tossing it off the balcony. 

His nose wrinkled as he pulled the grey tunic over his head. Two months’ worth of sweat and dirt had worked its way into his riding leathers, even with frequent washings. He folded it neater than it deserved in its current state, and set it aside on the bed before working on his scabbard and belts. The floor claimed the two belts, but he kept the pair of sheathed blades in hand while he slid out the shiv in his left boot. He twirled it between his fingers, and exhaled once over the knife’s thin edge before carefully sticking it between his teeth.

It was an overcautious habit. He admitted that much as he removed his boots, especially given the security of his current surroundings. However, years of bathing publicly in the alienage square had taught the elf that some his more unsavory kin, or the occasional ogling _shem,_ were less likely to try to snatch a coin purse or cop a feel if they saw a “knife ear” with an actual knife. 

He stood and shrugged easily out his pants and small clothes, and placed the scabbard on the wooden shelf within arm’s reach. His fingers bristled when they came into contact with the wicker basket also occupying the shelf. Curious, he tipped it forward, and found it restocked with three round bars of herbal soap. Marking the center of each was a flaked letter ‘B’ that looked as though it had been carved by the corner of a fingernail. Levi’s smirk curled over the blade pressing against his lips. The fresh bars of soap and thoroughly cleaned bearskin were without a doubt the handiwork of Sister Beatrice.

 Levi gave the pump three strong pulls and dipped one foot into the basin. He sucked hard over his already clenched teeth, and cursed himself for having grown spoiled by the kettle warmed water that Erwin often used to offset the chill in the baths he prepared. Regardless of its temperature, the dark plume spreading throughout the pool was evidence that it was doing the job, and the rogue forced his other foot in before yanking on the pump once again. Pale skin and hair prickled under the cold that dribbled down his back, and he rubbed Bea’s soap against himself fiercely, if nothing but for the warmth of the friction alone.  Suds bubbled up wherever he worked: around his calves, behind his knees, and over where the faint markings of teeth marched down the side of his thigh.

 Typical of Erwin, the elf scoffed, moving on to tend to his chest and underneath his arms.  He rinsed off, and splashed a handful of clean water over his face, blinking through the droplets that fell from his bangs. He turned to wash his neck and shoulder blade and—a distinctly greyed patch of flesh.  

The soap hit the bottom of the basin with a hard echo as Levi’s hand flew furiously at the spot; gritting his teeth, he scrubbed until the knife slipped against his cheek; and winced when warm blood hit his tongue.  

“Shit,” the elf spat, wiping away the bloodied dribble from his mouth. He looked down at his shoulder again and saw that the greyed patch had smeared with the water so that it ran down his arm in a smoky stream. Another splash of clean water and it disappeared completely.  Dirt, dust, or a trick of the eye: whatever the patch had been, it was gone now.

Levi let out a wheeze. He slid down gently into the basin, and pulled his knees up to his chest while he collected himself there, wet and shivering, and knowing that neither had to do with the chill of the surrounding pool.

The elf retrieved his weapons, rinsed, and dried off; but the quick toss of the bathing water over the balcony again didn’t remove the image of the taint he thought he had seen on himself…what he had seen on Erwin. It was an inevitable truth his recruits would come to know the hours following their Joining. 

His finer leathers were kept preserved in the back drawers of his unused chamber, though the ensemble was hardly made of leather at all. The parts that were, like the high-collard and silver trimmed jerkin, were stiff around his neck and wrist. Scratchy and ill-suited for combat, the brass accents and buttons that dotted down the front dug telling marks into his skin whenever he wore it too long.  

But the true enemy of the whole menagerie was the blue silk cloak that heralded his position as Warden-Constable. The fabric was soft around his fingers, beautiful and smooth by itself, but official dress code demanded for such perfection to be twisted and slung over the side of his left shoulder. To add insult to its beauty, the cloak had to  be clasped by gaudy silver tassels bearing Rosenwall’s sigil to secure it.

The elf’s eyes narrowed. If he did all the folds properly, he could at least minimize the amount of wrinkles that would need to be worked out later. He stretched it over his shoulder and kept it bound with as few tucks as possible. Stepping back from the looking glass, Levi felt as though he was staring at a poorly painted portrait of the past Warden-Commanders and Constables that lined the dreary walls of Sina’s Watch—provided any of them had sharp ears jutting out from the sides of their heads. To think, ages from now, Chantry clerics might lead a tour of some nobles’ brats down the hall and pause to admire Rosenwall’s current legacy: the stalwart, handsome Commander, alongside his harrowed elven second. He snorted. Perhaps the artist would crop his ears like many did with Shartan, as if he dared compare himself to Andraste’s alleged elven lover, or Erwin to the Maker’s supposed bride. “Seen here,” he said, mocking his reflection, “ is Rosenwall’s Commander of the Grey and renown magi, Erwin Smith, depicted with his right-hand man, Warden-Constable—”

 “Levi!” 

The door swung open with his name, and a wide pair of chestnut eyes beneath a matching set of hair followed it. The intruder hunched slightly off balance, panting but also grinning up at the sight of him. “Oh, _ma serannas,_ Creators! _”_ she huffed, slapping the wooden frame of the doorway with an open palm, “I have been looking everywhere for you, _lethallin_!”   

“Hange,” the elf addressed, as the mage tittered back to her full height, “I must’ve not heard you knock…” 

“Oh, that’s ‘cus I didn’t,” Hange beamed back, and then craned her neck around to the outside corridor. “Moblit, I found him! He’s in here!” 

“Why is Berner—”

“Shh!” the mage hushed him, holding a finger up to her lips, and Levi  bit his own.  Hange was still dressed in her loose and, the elf noticed, filthy riding clothes; having chosen to forgo the traditional long robes most Magi fancied in favor of a short cloth jacket that was hastily knotted by a faded  blue sash around its middle. The black leather was peeling at the toe of the boot she used to prop the door wide open.

Levi’s eyes flickered from her to the open doorway, “I had barely finished changing, you know,” he said.

“Hmm? Oh,” Hange flapped a hand in dismissal, “I traveled around with Dalish elves for years after I left home, remember?” She tucked a curly lock behind an ear to better accentuate the golden lines of the _vallaslin_ that wove around her eyes like a pair of large spectacles. “Believe me, I’ve seen it all. However…,” she trailed, eyeing the elf from the ground up, “I do appreciate your concern, but after coming home from slaughtering Darkspawn for two months, I would just chalk up seeing you naked as one more disturbing thing to block out after this   mission.”  

“Sod off,” Levi hissed, but before he could retort further, his focus switched towards the sounds coming from the hallway. The mage’s snickering overlapped with what he recognized to be the telling jingle of light chainmail, and sure enough, a clinking Moblit Berner tumbled into the room with a barrel almost equal to the elf’s own height. He set it down on the floor and half slumped over it. 

“Lieutenant…Zoe,” he coughed, and the wide whites of his eyes accentuated just how deep a shade of scarlet his face was. “You shouldn’t just…barge into…the Warden-Constable’s…chambers—”

“Oh lighten up, Moblit,” Hange laughed, slapping the back of her breathless assistant, “it’s just Levi!” The mage retrieved her foot from propping the door and clicked the lock with a snap of her fingers. She whirled and pointed to the elf. “I have a problem.”   

“I could’ve told you that.”

“An _emergency_ ,” the mage clarified, leaning back against the door frame with a grin, “and your ears twitched, so I know you’re interested. ”

The elf frowned and pushed his hair over his damnable tell. “Depends on what sort of emergency this happens to be,” Levi said, easing himself down onto the edge of his bed. “Because with you, I know that ‘emergencies’ tend to range from ‘The Darkspawn are clawing at our gates’ to ‘I need you to cast the deciding vote for the name of my imaginary gryphon companion—’ ”

“—AND, while I respect your opinion,” Hange interjected, “I decided in the end that Mahariel was the best name out of the other twelve possible choices. In any case _abelas, lethallin;_ Forgive me, but please hear me out _.”_

Levi’s ears perked at that:  If Hange was straying away from the topic of baby gryphon names, then the situation must’ve been more dire than he initially suspected; which made the mage’s sudden appearance all that more worrisome. His brow now had more creases than the silk wrapped around his back. “So, on a scale of Darkspawn to baby gryphon names, what exactly is it  I’m looking at here, Hange?”

Triumph split the mage’s lips. With a small flourish of her wrist, a dark vine-like staff crackled into existence and extended out to tap the side of the barrel her loyal assistant was resting on. “Up and at ’em, Mo!” she said, prodding the exhausted warrior as he stumbled back from the container. “Show the Constable what the problem is.”  

The man’s flushed face nodded. “Of course Lieutenant,” he replied sounding more defeated than compliant. He removed the barrel’s lid and scooted it towards the elf. Levi stood, his height allowing him just barely enough leverage to be able to look down at its contents. His frown deepened, and he tilted the barrel forward to make sure he was seeing things properly.      

“Apples,” he confirmed, narrow eyes switching from the reddened fruits to the reddened faces of his guests.  Hange nodded, while the corners of Moblit’s eyes shined with either sweat or withheld tears. Puzzled, the elf looked down into the barrel again. “Are…they rotten?”

Hange groaned and leaned her forehead into her staff. “No,” the mage said.

“The wrong color then?”

“No! It’s—” She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled. “Alright, so remember when I asked you about taking samples of Darkspawn flesh back to research them?”

“I do remember telling you ‘no,’ ” he answered thinly.

“So, I may have sent a raven back to Erwin about it, and he said it was fine…provided we were extremely careful with the samples and…well, you know how things get after expeditions: People are excited to see you; stuff falls, cargo breaks—” she tapped the barrel with her staff again and let out a little laugh, “gets misplaced. You understand, right?”

Levi felt a heat creep onto his neck that outdid the sweltering discomfort of his present garbs. “From what I understand,” he said slowly rising from the bed, “…is that there is a barrel of blighted flesh festering somewhere within this keep.”  He reached for the door handle, but the mage blocked him with her arm.

“Not _somewhere,”_ Hange corrected, leaning over so quickly that a few bound hairs popped free of her ponytail. “If the apples are here, then we’ll most likely find the samples where these are supposed to be.”

The elf quirked a dark brow up at her. “The storeroom? As in it’s near food? Wonderful. Now that you’ve deduced where it is, don’t let me keep you from getting it,” he added and slipped under her outstretched limb into the corridor.

Hange whirled in place, her mélange of silk and cotton garb fluttering around her as she turned and hurried after him. “But don’t you see—that’s the problem! Mo says the sisters have been holed up down there since daybreak preparing the banquet for tonight. That cellar door is locked tighter than a Templar’s chastity belt, which is why we need someone of your roguish expertise to slip down there; and besides,” the mage said, pursing her lips, “even if I could get down there, Mother _Meanie_ would just cause a huge commotion. She doesn’t like mages.”

“Mother _Philomena_ always seems civil enough with Erwin,” Levi countered, “maybe it’s just you.” He pulled at a fold in his cloak that was sticking to his shoulder, and caught a quick glance of Hange’s assistant, barrel in arms, trundling after them. 

“ ‘Just me?’ ” the mage snorted, “More likely Erwin’s the exception. The man has got a silk tongue that could rival the thread count of the Empress of Orlais’ own sheets…not that I  need to explain _that_ to present company,” she muttered with a half-smile that only managed to grow once she caught the elf’s eyes.

 He glowered up at her. “You certainly have an odd way of asking for a favor, _mage,_ ” he said, “to be fair though, Philomena isn’t exactly fond of elves, either. Last time I was down there, she subtly reminded me that the only _rabbits_ welcome in her kitchen were the ones roasting over a spit.”

Behind the huffing and clanking of armor, Moblit let loose a sharp whistle. The mention of the “endearing” elven slur hadn’t escaped his ears. Hange ignored it with a few more of her dark curls springing out as she shook her head. “Never said it was a favor,” she said, cheek tilted over the rise of the elf’s ear. “Pulled a few strings with a contact who owes me for an old tome translation from a few years ago; he’s got a cousin who works out of their University’s arboretum, and has been known to fence a few choice herbs from their greenhouse from time to time when research funds get tight. Through him, I was able to secure a nice fat shipment of Royal Elfroot: which, as you know, has leaves that can be distilled into a powerful poultice by our alchemists…or has a potential to be brewed into a fine warm liquid.”

His damn ears twitched and he could hear the pleased grin in Hange’s voice. 

 “Pick the storeroom cellar lock, get my samples out without raising a fuss from Mother Meanie, and I can guarantee you a tea so rich, that high courts from both ends of Thedas don’t even dare name the brew. They say it’s like ‘sipping black velvet.’ ”

The elf hummed thoughtfully, but curbed the interested noise immediately when he saw that the mage appeared all too pleased with herself. He looked away from her and ran a thumb along the puckered outlines his lock picks made in the doeskin pouch tucked under his second belt. “The tea leaves—and you look into a rune that wards off dust,” he said, remembering the flakes he’d seen ascending to the grand foyer’s ceiling.

He scarcely managed another step forward before Hange’s arms were wrapped tightly around him, wrinkling the hard fought silk and drilling the tight buttons even further into his skin. “ _Ma serannas, lethallin!_ I knew I could count on you, ” she squealed, but stepped back and  released him from the hug almost immediately. “And… _ir abelas,”_ she apologized as the Constable stiffly smoothed himself out again. “There’s a backdoor in the storeroom that leads out to the courtyard, but only opens from the inside. I think it’s used for deliveries? Anyway, Mo and I will meet you out there. Hopefully we can just switch the barrels, and all go about our abnormal lives again.”      

Levi finished brushing his shoulder off and nodded. “Sounds simple enough, all things considered. Should I be on the lookout for signs of possible contamination in the storeroom?” 

Hange looked as though she had tasted something foul. “From the samples? Not likely.” She raked both hands up through her tangled nest of hair, and gathered up the stray pieces before snapping them behind in a loose bun. “It’s only been a few hours. Contamination doesn’t spread _that_ quickly—plus, the barrel is warded too, and those runes have had a ninety…well, eighty-six percent success rate.”   

Levi groaned at the mage’s less than perfect calculations. “At least the runes will make it easier to identify.”

A short laugh burst free from the mage’s mouth as she walked directly past Moblit. The warrior sighed, but turned on point to follow her back the direction from which he had just come from. “It’s a barrel full of Darkspawn flesh, _Ser_ Constable of Rosenwall’s Grey Wardens,” Hange called out over her shoulder, “trust me: you’ll _know_ when you’ve found it.”

He continued towards his own destination after the pair had safely vanished around the hall. Blue trappings woven around the stair’s bannister were the foyer’s newest accent. He eyed where he had left a dusty handprint earlier upon his ascent, and instead found the wood slick and clean all the way down to the floor. He smiled to himself and descended the first step down. Perhaps these Wardens might have a chance against an Archdemon after all. 

Below, the Grand Foyer had begun to finally take shape for the Joining and homecoming banquet. In an open space that had once aspired to be a palace ballroom, wide wooden tables now rested their heels: the grooves and stains of their surface from the hammering and spills of ale mugs and heavy platters only partially masked by alternating schemes of blue and silver drapery. The Wardens tasked to finishing off the final decorative preparations fretted about the room, offering up silent fisted salutes when they caught his eye before returning to their duties.

In one corner, Petra Ral’s fiery-orange hair was a spark among the darker shades of nodding Wardens that had gathered around her. She hadn’t seen him, but Levi noticed her fingers rapidly pointing to the doors circulating around the foyer that opened up into smaller, individual chambers. They were remnants of “Entertaining Parlors,” according to Erwin: private sitting rooms, popular in Orlais for ball attendants seeking more intimate quarters for chats and other encounters away from prying eyes. They served the Rosenwall Wardens mostly as storage rooms now, though Levi had seen Eld Jinn slip out of one or two, a bag of dice or rosy cheeked girl in hand.  Other than that, they were rarely used. From where he was, he couldn’t make out the exact words Petra was saying or even why she was directing her fellow Wardens’ attention to the rooms. Whatever the reason, he was grateful that the distraction allowed him to seek out the kitchen entrance with no interference.

Touch alone told him which tool he required. Between the unusual hours both Hange and Erwin kept in respect to their research, he’d grown quite accustomed to breaking into the kitchen store after hours for a bit of cheese or bread to ensure the overworked magi weren’t completely malnourished come morning. A few quick flicks of the slender metal and the door clicked open, obedient as though he was using  its married key.

Before the door was even fully open, the warm spiced smell of roasting quail and crisp vegetables wafted up to meet him.  His stomach returned the greeting voraciously after months of dried fruits and salted meats from game Auro had hunted along the road. Taverns were sparse, and when meals were had, they were taken mindful of both their numbers and moderate funding. A second whiff whispered a promise of braised venison and beef: a treat for even the garrisoned Wardens, as the Keep’s close proximity to the coast meant the majority of their heartier dishes came from the sea. The aromas of tonight’s menu, however, had all but erased the memory of the usual sting of mackerel.

He took the second step and winced as the wood protested  even louder than his stomach. Internally, he swore having remembered his finer boots lacked the softer soles he normally worked in. Levi paused, ears searching for any reaction to the noise, but the clatter of pots, and scraping of stirring spoons provided enough cover for him that he felt bold enough to take on the remaining flight down to the last step.  The elf stopped upon seeing the tell-tale peach of a Chantry robe dart by.

The girl wearing them was short, and her vestments had undergone some minor alterations for kitchen work. Long sleeves were rolled up past the elbows, and the skirt had been hiked up to just above the knees. In her arms, she carried a handful of onions which she promptly dispersed into a large cast iron pot. She took up a ladle and stepped up on a small foot stool to better tend to the stew. Through the clamor, Levi picked up a recognizable giggle and watched as the small Sister squinted in mock menace up at where her taller counterpart was peeling potatoes. She opened her mouth just as the high shrill of an older woman’s thick Orlesian accent blared from the adjoining room. The taller sister gave  a sympathetic sag of her shoulders and the smaller hopped down to answer the summons.

Once the other had gone, the remaining sister’s robes swayed along with her full hips to an invisible tune. If her hair had not been bound and covered for kitchen duty, a black braid down to her waist would’ve swung alongside the rest of her as she went about orchestrating whatever tune she was imagining; punctuating each strike of the potato held firmly in her hand with the  paring knife in the other. Had she been holding soap, Levi guessed that Sister Beatrice might’ve left her signature sharp-angled “B” in its skin before moving on to the next.  

“Andraste’s tits!” Bea hissed. She was clutching her elbow that had knocked into the table, and swore again  as one of the unpeeled potatoes from her pile spiraled to the floor and rolled right by the step the elf was crouched on. He snapped it up and held it out to the girl.

“Hope you’re not planning on using it now,” Levi said, tossing the marauding spud back up at the sister.

Bea caught it, and surprise turned to joy as recognition set in. Dark lips unfolded wide enough that the slight gap between her front teeth became visible. “Le—!” she started, but quickly covered her mouth. “ _Constable_ ,” she said curbing her glee to a more respectful tone, “I had heard you returned safely. I trust you have found your quarters well stocked?” Her brown eyes flittered between him and the back room doors for any sign of intrusion from the other two.

The elf nodded. “Make sure you spread some of those soaps around though, Bea. The road was not kind to our returning company.” 

The girl shook her head. “Ah, I give them to you because at least I know you’ll actually make use of them,” she said. The sister’s syrupy accent rattled off a few Antivan words and then sighed, “Ah, _Fereldens._ I understandtheylove their dogs, but why must they insist on smelling like them. Well…most of them,” she amended, differing to the elf with a small flourish.

“It puzzles me as well,” Levi agreed, noting the reappearance of Beatrice’s beautiful wide smile. “ Can’t complain about down here though,” he shrugged, “everything smells wonderful.” 

“Oh, doesn’t it?” Beatrice inhaled deeply, clapped her long dark hands to the center of her chest and sighed. “Forgive me, we’ve been up since before first light making preparations and it’s…torture!” She pouted her lips, and to Levi, she looked very much like the child of seventeen years she often pretended not to be. “Today’s a Holy Day of Fast in the Chantry,” she explained.

“Ah.” The elf  tried to sympathize as this sister’s voice cracked into a near sob at the end, “What feast day?”

Bea glared down at him. “‘The day Andraste pissed and flowers sprung up in the woods,’” she sneered as another string of Antivan words followed. “How should I know? They don’t tell poor lay clergy these things; but I do know that is cruel to force people to _fast_ on something called a _feast day—_ it makes no sense _!”_

The free-spirited Beatrice Felani had come from a prominent merchant family largely responsible for keeping her homeland of Antiva’s trading routes in the Orlesian Empire’s good graces. She had spent the past three years serving the Rosenwall Wardens as a lay sister; two years longer than most did when discerning whether or not to be ordained into the full hierarchy of the Chantry. “Because they’d either ship me back home or they’d stuff me into some golden parlor in Val Royaeux,” she explained when the elf had once inquired as to why she hadn’t decided either way.  “A good _Antivan_ always keeps their options open, and besides, Cordelia always said that the sea air agreed with me.”

Levi knew little of the bubbly girl’s younger twin; only that she remained at home to train in managing the family’s financial affairs during Bea’s absence, and that she had been instrumental in Beatrice’s decision to come to Rosenwall. “Cordelia?” she would say with a smile that was not the wide glee Levi had come to know, but a polite, somewhat sad grin. “Let us just say both of our arrangements worked out: That it’s cleaner this way—and my mother used to say that an Antivan is lucky if they get three things out of life: ‘a clean dwelling, a clean garb, and a clean death.’ Something you can appreciate, _sí_?”  He had, especially since the former assassin’s dealings with the country had been limited to interactions with the infamous Antivan Crows: a life now long lost to him.

“Ah, listen to me complaining like an old crone,” Beatrice’s tongue _tsk-ed_. “Perhaps I should take my perpetual vows. I’m already starting to sound like the Revered Mother. I’m sure if you _truly_ wish to know the celebratory occasion for our disgruntled bellies, Sister Eliza could tell you when she gets back. Or perhaps, even Sister Krista might know.”

A name and a sketch of the doe-eyed girl Erwin had slid across his desk just over an hour ago flashed into the elf’s thoughts.  “Krista Lenz? The one sent down from Sina?”

Bea smoothed her hands down her robes and muttered a noise of recognition. “She’s been attending morning chant and evening vespers with us since her arrival. Was actually a tremendous help for tonight’s preparations—but from what I understand, she was sent here to become one of you, s _í_? Oh, Mother Philomena’s face was redder than a spanked nug when she found out too! She—”

The Antivan bit her lower lip, and searched the backdoors again before leaning over the elf’s ear.  “She had been petitioning Val Royaeux for additional hands down here and  heard nothing for months. So, when word reached us that a sister from the Chantry at Sina—of all places—was coming _here,_ she sent off a rather hasty letter to the College of Clerics, appreciating them for finally taking her demands seriously, and well…” the girl struggled to swallow her giggle. “Ah, our poor dear Revered Mother. But regardless of who she’s here for, I’m happy Sister Krista will be staying with us. She’s very sweet—cute too,” Beatrice noted with a pleased smile.       

Levi shook his head and wished the poor Chantry sister all the luck in Thedas for her to be able to get past the other girl’s hovering qunari bodyguard for even a chance at flirting. Bea slouched against the wall and wrapped her long pinned sleeves around her middle and inhaled. “I suppose that means she’ll get to eat at the banquet with the other Wardens too. Which speaking of,” the sister said, turning her playful brown eyes quizzical at the Warden-Constable. “Shouldn’t you be above with the rest for that Warden joining celebration?”

‘Celebration’ made Levi frown slightly, but he couldn’t fault the sister for her word choice. Those outside of the Wardens, even the Chantry Sisters that lived alongside them, had no idea of what the Joining truly was. After watching confident prospects succumb to Darkspawn corruption, and having to gut cowardly recruits for refusing to drink, he had long since distanced the process from a word so joyously used in recognition of wedding anniversaries and name days.  

“There was a bit of a mix up with one of my colleague’s supplies,” the elf admitted.

“A mix up?”

“Yes. The barrel of apples we use for rewarding the horses got swapped with the kitchen stocked ones. You haven’t seen it around, right?” he asked, somewhat hopeful that, Maker willing, the sisters were so busy with dinner preparations they didn’t open it.

Beatrice pressed a finger to her lips. “Apples, eh?  Well, the Revered Mother and Eliza were the ones who did your post-expedition inventory today. But none of the dishes tonight required apples, so we haven’t really been looking for them. Either way, I fear I am of little use to you, Constable. I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t apologize,” Levi said, a tiny wave of relief washing over him that the Chantry sisters hadn’t accidentally unleashed a barrel of blighted flesh into the Wardens’ food stockpile. That comfort passed quickly when, beneath all the sweet roasting smells of warm cooking fires and bubbling pot lids, was that gnawing presence always at the edge of his mind. Hange was right: he wouldn’t need runes to find it.

“Those poor horses though…” drifted Bea’s airy voice back into his focus. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her middle again. “To not be able to have a snack after working so hard—Ah no, that simply will not do! The Chantry sister clenched her fist, brown eyes burning as though the fervor of the Maker himself had touched her. “Rest assured, my dear Constable, we will find those apples for you: by Andraste’s ass, Sister Beatrice Felani will not allow any more beasts on this blessed day to go hungry toni—”

The moment the backdoor latch clicked, the elf had already taken a knee behind the staircase. Bea immediately side-stepped over to block the base step and provide additional coverage. In her haste, Levi noticed that the potato Bea had sought to initially retrieve was once again warbling across the kitchen’s stone floor and rounding about table legs. From behind the peach curtain of Beatrice’s robes, another predictable set of black Chantry boots  appeared at the rear of the kitchen. Bea’s protective stance visibly relaxed.

“Ah _mi amiga!_ ” her cheerful voice rang out. She stepped forward towards the other sister, and Levi shrank back further into the shadows of the stairwell. “You have arrived at a most opportune time!” 

   There was a clatter of pots, followed by a loud fizzle that at first resembled the sound of hot steam to the elf’s ears, but it quickly devolved into a dizzying hiss that tugged at his veins. He shut his eyes and it became clearer—like words: a whisper of a cherished dark secret that he both reveled and reviled in wanting to know.

A sweet Anitvan voice once again cut through the seductive pull of the nonsensical words.  “You know our dear Warden-Constable, don’t you Liza?” 

When Levi’s lids parted,  a much shorter sister  was in front of him: one arm was securely fashioned around a bundle of carrots, while the other was linked amicably around Beatrice’s own. The red veil  that was fashioned over her hair and chin heightened the round, distinctly dwarven features of her face. Of Rosenwall’s three sisters, she was the one he had the least amount of contact with, but had heard only good things from Bea about Sister Eliza Ark.

The dwarf’s light grey eyes were a perfect mirror of his own, but rounder and gentler, even when they immediately turned away from the elf’s face to the floor. “Your work is very much appreciated by the Wardens, Sister Ark,” Levi goaded politely, but the girl only nodded. 

Beatrice wore her broadest smile as she squeezed her fellow sister’s stout arm. “Warden-Constable Levi is looking for a barrel of apples that might’ve been unloaded here by mistake. Did you happen to come across such a thing during inventory?”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said and  without another word,  passed the carrots off to the arms of a giggling Beatrice and bounded back to the rear storeroom. 

The elf  watched her leave and frowned. “Has she…taken a vow of silence?” he inquired after the girl disappeared. 

Beatrice laughed. “No, she’s just terribly shy,” she said, a smirk climbing up the side of her cheek. “ _Especially_ around particularly dashing elves.” 

Levi almost choked on the word. “Dashing—?” he gaped, just as the dwarf popped back into the room. Despite her stature, Eliza managed to carry in a barrel that looked to be the very twin of the one Moblit had heaved to his quarters earlier; except this time, its contents reached out to his mind with the arms of  a reunited child. He pushed its longing cry away and nodded to both of the sisters. “That’s the one.” 

“Marvelous!” Beatrice clapped, “but perhaps we should open it to make sure?”

“Can’t,” replied the dwarven sister before Levi could protest. She stood on her toes and swatted the top. “Tried to. Lid’s sealed too tightly. Magic probably.”  

A trace of the signature blue glow that lyrium emitted peaked out from under the the lid. By Hange’s ingenuity, and possibly by the grace of the Maker, the mage’s wards seemed to be holding out. “It’s fine,” the elf assured Beatrice as he noted the girl’s frown when he crossed the kitchen, “thanks to your assistance, my friends will be able to make the swap out back.”

Eliza hunched her shoulders and nodded to the floor; Beatrice, with carrots in hand, responded with an extravagant bow. “You are most welcome, Constable,” she grinned. “What is it that the Revered Mother is always saying? _‘We serve the Maker first, but Rosenwall’s Wardens are a close second,_ ’ I believe? Ah, but you have horses to feed and banquets to enjoy, sí?” 

The Antivan sister sighed long and loud, and set the vegetables down next to her neglected pile of unpeeled potatoes. “If you truly wish to show your gratitude, I suppose you could always save us a cup of stew for later—fast ends at midnight after all,” she said, a very unsubtle wink at both the elf and her fellow faster.

The dwarf’s round head looked up immediately. “Stew,” was all she said, with a fretful glance at the covered pot on the fire. She brushed past the elf and reached for a long silver ladle on the counter, which Beatrice promptly took into her own hand.

“Liza, be a dear and escort Warden-Constable Levi out the back with his apples,” she said, “supplies can be heavy, and you know how tricky that fifth step can be.”

 Despite her proximity to the cooking fire, the fevered pink of Eliza’s cheeks turned ashen: her grey eyes rounding with near palpable anxiety as she looked at the elf. Levi waved off the suggestion.

“That really won’t be necessary, Bea,” he said, lifting the lost barrel up, “I can manage just fine.”

“He can manage just fine,” Eliza parroted back to the other sister without taking her eyes off the elf. 

Beatrice’s bottom lip curled menacingly down. “Go on, Liza,” she said stiffly, prodding the dwarf forward with the head of the ladle, “your stew will be fine—and it really will be fine!” she assured, flashing the elf her signature grin. “We’re serving the Warden-Commander’s favorite. The Revered Mother insisted we import all the ingredients from Orlais for a true taste of home.”   

“How thoughtful of her,” Levi said, eyes following the stilted movements of the dwarf moving past him; and it was, to some extent. Though it came to no surprise that as a native Orlesian herself, Mother Philomena often overlooked that the former chevalier had in fact, been born to a Ferelden woman, and later, apprenticed at a Ferelden circle. From what Levi had understood, Erwin had spent equal parts of his life in the respective homelands of both of his parents, and had come away with a balance of appreciation and distaste for both.  “I’ll be sure to pass it along so that he thanks you personally.”

“Oh there’s no need for that,  ” Bea sighed, lifting the lid off the bubbling stewpot.  “It’ll be good to see the Commander in the dining hall for a change.”

Levi stopped. “For a change?” he asked, turning to see Beatrice with a wooden tasting spoon halfway to her lips.  She lowered it to gently stir  at the folds of the stew’s browning skin and cocked her head. 

“ _Sí?_ A month or so ago, _Messere_ Zacharias informed us that the Commander had requested to take his meals in his study. It made sense that in your absence, work would be piling up. However, the treys looked hardly touched when we collected them, so then we were concerned that he had perhaps fallen ill?” She frowned, “You didn’t know then?”

The elf’s jaw tightened. “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“Oh,” Bea said, chewing on her bottom  lip, “Forgive me, Constable. I had assumed that  the Commander would’ve been in contact with you of all—” Beatrice segued into another flurry of Antivan words. She covered the pot noisily and took a step back from the cooking fire to dab at her beading forehead.  “Andraste’s swollen tits, listen to me prattling and gossiping like a silly servant girl. If he made no mention of  it to you, it must not be serious. Forget I even brought it up. _”_

Beatrice began dicing carrots and continued muttering in her native tongue with an expression that made even Eliza look like a friendly face to the elf. The sullen dwarf was managing to hold both the front half of the barrel and the back door with minimal effort. She jerked her head towards the rear storeroom and Levi nodded. “Take care of yourself Bea.”

“Maker keep you safe, Constable,” Levi heard her say, and then just as the door closed, grumbled, “and Maker help me keep my mouth shut.” 

The fervid warmth of the cooking fires had made the transition to the cooler storerooms much more noticeable, though the chill was in part due, once again, to the ingenuity of Hange Zoe. The mage had theorized that if crates and other containers were laced with an appropriate amount of lyrium, they could effectively cycle any frost spell. The result had revolutionized how Rosenwall—and the rest of Thedas—could store and transport perishables, such as meat and fish. It meant the Rosenwall Wardens no longer had to dedicate riders to make daily runs to the nearby coastal village to trade and restock, and could thus take part in other assignments. Some of their best supply riders had been able to take part in the recruitment mission because of it, though the apparatuses Hange had dubbed “frost boxes” didn’t free them from their obligations completely; and a quick glance around the room revealed how their two month absence had taken a toll on supplies.

There were far too many gaps on the shelves, and Levi recognized far too many crates to be ones that the recruitment team had brought back today. Overhead, the old fishing nets the sisters had repurposed for hanging herbs and bulbs of garlic had been picked sparse. Even though much of their stockpile had no doubt been allocated for the feast tonight, it still seemed surprisingly low to the elf. Given the earlier mixup, it was an unintentional blessing: if the wards failed, a smaller cache meant less was wasted if contaminated. 

He had tried to reach out to detect any further corruption from the Blight within the room, but found it difficult to do so while keeping up with his partner’s brisk pace. It was rare to be working with someone smaller than himself, and he admired at how quickly the dwarf managed to move, especially walking backwards. 

“Mind the fifth step,” Eliza mentioned as they worked up the incline up to the delivery entrance. “Higher than the others. Maker only knows why.”  

“Will do.” 

Even with the warning, Levi felt his leg drag a bit upon reaching it while the sister’s boots clacked expertly up the stone. The corner of Eliza lips were upturned, as if attempting to smile, and it made the elf wonder if she too had felt his slight misstep. He’d have been more irked by the reaction, had he not been impressed that the sister was now managing to hold up her half of their cargo with one hand while the other undid the bar-lock. Another push, and the cellar door’s wooden shutters flapped open to the comforting sea salted air, and cooler final tones of dusk.

A light from Hange’s staff glowed a few yards away. The mage was next to it, sitting cross-legged atop the barrel of apples and enjoying one of  its round red fruits. She grinned upon seeing them, and swallowed the remaining chunk she had just bitten. 

“Thank the Creators, I was starting to get worried!” Hange said, stepping onto the grass once the pair had lowered their burden.  The elf lolled his neck back while Eliza walked directly past the mage to the other barrel. He watched Hange round about her missing samples, eyes narrowed critically up and down the container; but Levi noticed they were also soft, hinting that they were battling against the same allure he had felt encroach on his mind earlier.

“Yup!” the mage concurred, all a little too cheerful for the elf as she took another bite of apple, “everything looks good here! I can’t thank you enough, _lethallin—ma serannas,_ ” she said, smiling sincerely, before twirling around to the dwarf, “and to you as well! Stone met, sister. I can personally guarantee those fruits are in fine condition as well.” She wiped a bit of  juice from the corner of her mouth. “Are you from Orzammar?”

Eliza adjusted her red headscarf and shrugged. “Around there,” she said, offering a longer answer than even Levi had anticipated. She nudged the barrel with her foot, and barely reacted when Moblit Berner shot up from behind it. The sister eyed the half-apple in the warrior’s hands and he dropped it guiltily. 

Hange laughed. “My good friend here is actually dwarven blooded too, right Moblit?”

“Oh yes!” the warrior grinned down at the dwarf, “on my mother’s side, actually. She met my father as part of a movement lead by an Andrastian sect to—”

“Very interesting. Warden-Constable Levi,” Eliza interrupted, twisting her round head away from Moblit to address the elf  all while looking directly at neither of them. “ By your leave, I will return to my duties.”

“Absolutely,” Levi said, glancing at the other two wardens,  “The exchange is done. Let’s not impose on Sister Ark any more than we already have.” Moblit wiped a palm over the back of his nape and bobbed his head in agreement. 

Hange’s frowned swirled around a cheek full of fruit.“Of course Levi, but shouldn’t you at least help her back down?” 

“She can manage just fine, ” the elf said just as Eliza finished lifting the barrel onto her shoulder. The sister offered him a pinched smile in return.

“Maker’s Blessing, Wardens,” the girl said, just before pulling the shutter doors behind her as she descended the cellar steps. 

Hange twirled the shriveled remains of her apple around in her hand. “An Andrastian dwarf, huh? And people say I’m strange…Ah, well,” the mage sighed, and with a snap, dissolved the core into a plume of flames. She brushed  off the remaining cinders and then gave the staff head two quick taps so that the mage-light expanded,“That chantry sister definitely has a thing for you though,” Hange said, the light adding an additional glint to her smile.

“You’re the second person to say that today, and not the first I believe,” Levi snorted,  spiraling out a puff of white air.  He shifted what he could of the fine silk closer over and found himself missing the musty warm wool his traveling cloak was crafted from. The light from Hange’s spell seemed to at least disperse some the discomfort.

The mage tilted her staff forward over the elf with a slight grimace. “ _Abelas,_ I’d forgotten how ill dressed you were, _lethallin._ We should get you out of the cold, and we should probably get those samples locked up in the southern tower before they decide to get up and walk out on us again. Heh, ‘g _et up and walk,”_ she giggled, as the other two wardens followed on each side of the mage a stride behind.  “All in all, it was still good practice in the event we ever get permission to handle live specimens,” the mage mused, “speaking of which Levi, do you think you could ask—”

“Absolutely not,” the Warden-Constable answered at the same time her assistant protested from the other side.

“Lieutenant please, you can’t be serious!” Moblit pleaded around the girth of the barrel he bore, and Hange’s laugh echoed under an archway they passed.

“Oh, Moblit don’t be ridiculous,” the mage chided, patting the enclosed samples. “Of course I’m serious. Just think what we could learn from studying actual Darkspawn in captivity,” she sighed dreamily, her head tilting back.  Flecks from the  fleeting energy from the staff light swirled about her and mimicked the untamed curls of her hair. “Now, I realize an Ogre would _probably_ be out of the question…But a Genlock or Hurlock might be feasible with  the right paralysis rune—OH!  Or a Shriek! Maybe one of each—see how they interact with each other… IF WE  captured an emissary though…Oh Creators, that would really be something! Start deciphering their lexicon, how they communicate…”

The grass gave way to cobblestone and Hange’s voice faded under it. The two taller  Wardens dipped beneath ivy tendrils hanging above the circular yard.  Earlier, they had brushed over his carriage window and his boots had made the same distinctive clack they were now. All that was missing from the inner courtyard now was Shadis’ commands throbbing over the white pillars. Lunette dirt markings yet to be swept revealed where the recruitment cart’s wheels had loped through. Empty and quiet,  Homecoming distractions had even left the braziers cold and unlit, until Hange revived the embers with a spell. Light bloomed behind them.

“Look,” the mage said pointing to the side, “we’re a Titan.” 

Levi followed the gesture to where the rekindled coals had amalgamated their huddled form into a massive shadow: its far too long limbs extended from the ground up the side of the Keep to rest just about the height of Erwin’s tower. The elf scowled. “Don’t joke about those things.” He moved away from the source light with a shiver, and the monstrous shadow broke apart at the nape. “We’re halfway through the Titan Age, and I’d like to get through the other half without ever seeing one.”

Moblit’s gauntlets drummed hesitantly along the wooden lip of his cargo. “There’s rumors,” the  warrior said softly, eyes still fixated on where the shadow had been. “That there was at least one when Maria’s Vigil got sacked…a Darkspawn, triple the size of an Ogre, but with the cunning of an emissary.” 

“Incredible,” Hange breathed, lower lip going slack, “I have to have one to study.”

The Warden-Constable groaned. “Then I’ll be sure to recruit one next time  around just for you.”

The mage’s face lit up brighter than any brazier the elf had ever seen and he immediately regretted the remark. “Imagine. Imagine fighting alongside a Darkspawn…a Titan…”

“Will b _oth_ of you PLEASE stop joking about those things?!” The warrior blurted setting the samples  down onto the ground. He was red-faced again, and the color only spread with the silence that followed his outburst. Moblit curled his lips.  “Constable. Lieutenant,” he saluted at each in turn, “I’m sorry…It’s been stressful with so many Wardens gone…I personally haven’t been sleeping well, my nerves are on edge after today’s mishap and I—”

“Oh, Moblit,” Hange soothed cupping her assistant by the shoulder.  “You don’t have to worry about apologizing to me,”she smiled, “…because I wasn’t joking.” 

The calm that had briefly pacified Moblit’s features drained from his face. “That…honestly doesn’t make me worry less, Lieutenant.” 

     She laughed. “What you should be worrying about is unpacking this stuff in the lab. I’ll meet you up there after I show my face at the Joining,  and ditch the banquet after I shove a few rolls up my sleeves. That way we’ll have something to eat before we pull an all-nighter!”  

The proposition elicited a deep sigh from within Moblit’s armor, but he made no other complaint. Levi, however, made no effort to  subdue the disgusted noise from the back of his throat as the mage kissed the sealed lid of the barrel. “See you tonight my beauties,” she sniffed, before turning away. “You better get moving, Moblit. I hate long goodbyes…”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” the warrior nodded, stepping away from the other two towards the path leading out of the courtyard towards the southern end of the Keep. He pivoted with perfect stance, and with the same impressive strength of the chantry sister he shared a heritage with, carried the barrel with one arm and gave a gauntleted salute to Levi  with the other. “Warden-Constable,” he said, “I realize in the haste of our somewhat self-inflicted predicament, I never got the opportunity to formally welcome you home, Ser, and I… ”

The elf inclined his head. “You’re fine, Berner. Watch your step with the braziers not being lit. Don’t hurt yourself getting there.”

“And don’t drop the samples!” Hange chimed in as the  warrior’s movements became a distant clinking down the unlit path. The mage folded her hands over the grip of her staff.“I still remember the day that man underwent the Joining,” she sighed, “I lost fifteen silvers, and to this day, it’s still the best bet I ever made.” 

“Figures. Puts up with so much too.”

“Yeah,” Hange agreed in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “I know he does.” Her hands climbed up from the wooden vines of her staff to the tangled ones along the side of her head. She pushed up the bushel of brown hair to reveal an ear: short, like a human’s, but crumpled where a blushed rounded arch should’ve been: Like a leaf in winter or one of Levi’s own.  “Mongrels like us are used to it though.”    

Levi had grown up alongside a few elven-blooded humans within his city’s Alienage, and most of which bore no mark of their mixed parentage. Many could pass—and possibly even go through their lives believing they were full-blooded humans—if they had no knowledge of their lineage. Regardless of the shape of their ears,  they too sat alongside him and boiled their questionable drinking water at the end of the day. Even  small tells like Hange’s unique ears, manifested only due to multiple generations of crossbreeding. 

The Warden-Constable shrugged. “There are times, I’d say you’re more elven than me,” the elf offered.

The mage returned the compliment with a corner smile; small, like the one Beatrice used whenever she talked about her twin sister.   “I suppose it’s not about blood,” Hange said, letting the hair tumble back over before shaking her head. “Ah well, we should probably be on our way,” she said and lead with her staff towards the front entrance.  

The elf didn't budge.  “To the Main Hall? For the Joining?” Levi’s high collared leathers clawed at his neck as he looked over the loose riding garbs that the mage still hadn’t changed out of. “Dressed like that?” 

The mage gasped and clutched her chest in  feign insult. “Oh ouch! Well, I see that the Orlesian half of our dear Commander has started to rub off on you.”   

“It’s not that,” he bristled. “There’s a bunch of traditional old Warden shit. Erwin believes someone here is reporting our activity back to Sina’s Watch, so we shouldn’t start shit over something as menial as dress code.” 

Hange rolled her eyes. “Ugh ‘Tradition…’ Please,” She scoffed and reached for another  apple that had  apparently been stowed up one of her baggy sleeves. “If Sina gets a report complaining about my clothing, that’s the least of my worries. Besides, you’re not technically dressed properly either. Your cloak is on the wrong side,” she finished with a smug mouth full of fruit. 

The elf pinched the blue silk clinging to him. “It officially goes over your left shoulder,” he insisted, “Erwin’s is always over his left shoulder—”

“ _The Commander of the Grey_ wears their cloak over their _left_ shoulder,” the mage emphasized with another bite of apple. “ _The Constable_ wears theirs over their _right_ because they’re supposed to stand at the Commander’s _right hand._ It’s  designed so that it makes the shape of flared gryphon wings when you’re side-by-side. Blue and White.” 

Before he had inherited it, he had mastered peeling it back from his predecessor; the blue herald falling away so that Erwin Smith could stand in  the place of the Warden-Constable for a few hours. Levi had been content to fold it, leave it neat and remote over a desk chair or behind an armoire’s closed doors. Erwin had taken it from his hands one evening and drawn it over the elf’s chest.“The color suits you, if you’ll have it,” the man had said, frost and fire nipped fingers kneading the fabric into his shoulder. 

His _right_ shoulder. 

Levi swore under his breath in elven and undid the sigil clasp, muttering over the mage’s snickering as he fitfully redid the folds. On the last tuck, the first pleat came undone and the shawl fell loose around his neck again. 

“Here, let me.” Hange said  and took the limp fabric from the defeated elf. She shook the cloak out. “Think of the cloak as a drowsy dragon,” she said, grinning when the elf arched a single brow up. 

“A drowsy dragon,” she recited, creasing the cloak in half, “folds her wings. She lays her head…” Around the neck. 

“…guards her gold…” Across the chest.

“…with one last yawn…” Loop under the shoulder.

“…goes to bed,” She finished, cinching her knot with the sigil. “Now you’re actually presentable, Warden-Constable.” 

While there was no looking glass to confirm it, the strenuous tug of the silk had lessened around his chest. Taut blue had been reshaped to feather-like pleats at a steady incline over his shoulder. He would never admit it, but the last time the fabric fell this perfectly was when Erwin had tied it, passing the position on to him at their induction.

“What’s that look for?”

Hange pulled at her worn clothes. “Oh you think just because I don’t care about these kinds of things, that means I don’t know about them?”

“On the contrary,” the elf said, “knowledge of this kind of thing seems perfect for you.” They passed the  two rearing stone gryphons guarding the main entrance. “Interesting way to remember though,” he remarked a minute later.  

The mage grinned. “It’s  actually what’s used to teach children back ho—well, where I’m from,” she amended with a much more dampened smile. “I don’t know if Dalish clans have rhymes for remembering formal attire. Probably not.”    

“Probably not,” he agreed, swallowing back a remark he almost made about how such a trick would be too joyful for the Dalish’s dour faces to even fathom. Hange had traveled with a clan for a good part of her life, and if the _vallaslin_ marking her face was any indication, they had considered her one of their own; at least, more than any flat-eared gutter dweller like himself. 

“So,” he said once the pair reached the entrance to the main hall. Hange’s head half tilted back towards him, her markings glowing near golden next to the mage-light crowning her staff. “M _ah…serranis…_ for back there.” 

A watery gleam touched the mage’s brown eyes at his attempt at the elven gratitude. “Always happy to help, _lethallin_ ,” Hange said, reaching to open the door.   

The elf arched a brow. “For a favor?” 

 “For a friend,” Hange grinned.

Once inside, he heard the unmistakable pop of the mage’s staff dissipating behind him. The fade-touched warmth and light from the spell had made the walk tolerable, but a poor memory in comparison to the tender fires lighting the walls in their _warm grey_ palette.  

“Actually, Hange muttered, sidling up alongside him again, “I _do_ have a small favor for you.”

“I’m not surprised,” Levi grunted. Elven camaraderie only went so far. 

“No, it’s just…this whole _thing_ that just happened…and Erwin. If you could maybe not mention it to him…”   

 “Andraste’s  freckled ass, you don’t have to worry about that,” the elf groaned,  “Memories of this whole escapade goes to the Deep Roads with us.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” the mage chirped. “Ah, that’s…such a relief to know you feel the same.”  She stretched her arms back with a little yawn. “They really cleaned this place up for us too. Last time I remember the Keep like this was for your succession ceremony, remember? Blazing hearth, lush banners, game meat that can’t be repurposed as a mace head! There’s even…oh.”

Hange stopped a few steps ahead of him just outside the transformed hall. “What’s…” Levi started to ask, but paused once alongside her. “Oh.” 

Amidst the heavily wrapped banquet tables, a chest hewn from a rich obsidian took center floor. Warped white bones and dagger length teeth adorned its side, while two large grotesque horns served as handles. Crowning the monstrosity, was the upper half of a reptilian skull socketed with blood garnets for eyes. Yet its sinister extremities were a thing of beauty in comparison to what it held. 

“ _Elgar’nan,”_ the mage whispered, almost too low to hear. “Urthemiel’s heart.”

Though it had been over two-hundred years since the Hero of Ferelden had dealt the finishing blow, the corrupted heart of the Archdemon of the Fifth Blight remained beating. It sat in its own slough, secreting a paste-like blood that the recruits would consume to become full fledged Grey Wardens. It  and the other hearts of the slain Old Gods had been a lost secret that had disappeared during the order’s civil war and disbandment. They would’ve remained so, had not a young Warden-Lieutenant stumbled upon their records and embarked on a deemed “suicidal expedition” to recover them from the thaigs of the Deep Roads. The results, however, had instead earned Erwin Smith the title of Warden-Constable, and had won his unlikely elven-conscript recognition across Thedas. 

Something bubbled beneath the inky pool and Levi’s stomach returned the gesture in kind. It was revolting enough to look at, but even more so knowing that its sickness dwelled within all of them. Fittingly the lock for the chest was fashioned in the shape of a sword that surged upwards into the middle of the beast’s skull: a reminder of the price that all of them, recruit or veteran tonight, would eventually pay; some sooner than others. 

“Lieutenant…Warden-Constable!”

 Petra had emerged from one of the surrounding Entertaining Parlors. She was still wearing Levi’s mother’s tired hazel eyes but had since changed into more sleek, formal leathers. In her hands she carried a small silver chalice that Levi recognized as one of the goblets Erwin had offered him earlier in his office. 

“The Warden-Commander was just asking for you,” she said, saluting. “Preparations are finally complete and we’re ready to begin.”

Hange frowned. “Complete?” she said, tilting her head around the room. “I’ll admit, the decorations look lovely, but… don't you think it’s a bit _quiet_ for a Joining?”

Levi looked around and saw the mage was correct in her observations. There was only space in front of the Archdemon’s heart, where the recruits should've been gathered together to fully accept their initiation. The seats and surrounding tables remained barren as well.  “Petra, where are the recruits now?” he asked.

Petra returned their quizzical looks with one of her own. “You…weren’t told?” the red-haired rogue said before pointing to the Entertaining Parlor she had just exited. “They’re in there. And there,” she said, pointing around at all the separate rooms. “The Warden-Commander informed us that the recruits would all be taking the Joining individually.”

“‘I _ndividually?_ ’”

Hange chewed on her bottom lip. “You know,” she mused, “initiates are much more likely to try and leave if they see one of their comrades die right before their eyes. Alone like this actually gives us a chance of getting them to drink, and not have to gut them for desertion.”

 The elf made a small disgusted noise and Petra turned to him. “You don’t agree, Constable?”

“It just feels…deceptive,” he mumbled. “They should be aware of the full risk. At the very least, be able to choose a clean death.”

“But they agreed to be Grey Wardens, Levi,” Hange argued, “They’re here to fight Darkspawn—they have to have some idea that they might not make it anyway.” Her eyes softened a little. “You have no reason to feel guilty, _lethallin…”_

“Andraste’s lopsided tits,” he growled, “I’m not feeling guilty, I just think they should be able to—” 

 _Trust me_ was what he had wanted to say and his fingers curled deep into his cloak’s folds. One wing, Hange had said it represented; designed to stand side-by-side with another.  He gritted his teeth. “Ignore me,” he said at the end of a long sigh. “I’m just rambling because I’m tired.”

Hange’s squint looked far from convinced, but she nodded sympathetically. “Understandable. I mean, it’s a little unorthodox, but incredibly pragmatic. No doubt about it, this idea has Erwin’s name written all over it. Did he happen to mention why, Petra?”

The girl shook her head. “If anything was said, it wasn’t to me,” she stood on the tips of her toes, and smiled. “Then again, you could ask him yourself.”  

  Rosenwall’s Commander of the Grey stood at the foot of the grand staircase, and looked every bit the part of the title. Erwin’s night-blue quarter length robes gave way to silver trimmed sabatons and greaves with matching accents of  silver plate  over the breast and thigh. His blonde hair had been re-parted neatly to one side while his pristinely tapered cloak slashed across the other.  Striking as he was, Levi thought the Constable’s colors suited Erwin better; too often did the Commander’s white ice over the blue in his eyes. 

   “Erwin Smith!” 

Without so much as even attempting a salute, Hange was bounding towards him in a flurry of her loose robes. “You sodding lion-dog, how are you!?”  she asked, grabbing her fellow mage’s gauntleted hands to kiss him on each cheek. 

The Commander returned the traditional Orlesian gesture with a smile that lacked its normal reserve. “More productive now, thanks to your advice about reversing the mana ley-lines on that fourth degree displacement glyph,” he said. Hange beamed  as she lead him over.

“You see? I told you that would work! I just can’t believe they never taught that at Kinloch! That should be the  _first_ thing you attempt when diffusing mana-script to a lower degree. Levi was there, when I said it too, so I know he remembers. Levi, you remember me saying that right?”  

“Hard to forget,” the elf humored. “Especially considering you brought it up numerous times over the course of the two-month trip.”

Hange’s show of Orlesian social graces disappeared as she gave the other mage’s arm an amicable shove. “See, even Levi thinks the South’s Circle standards are going to piss.”

“Well, I won’t disagree there,”  Erwin conceded and turned to receive the small goblet from Petra. “My thanks,Warden Ral. Good to see you again.”

The red-head saluted smartly over her heart. “Likewise, Ser. I had just finished informing the Lieutenant and Warden-Constable of the arrangements. The Wardens stand ready at your word, Ser.”

  “Excellent,” the Commander replied, though his eyes drifted over to Levi. There was a slight droop in them that the elf recognized as concern. Whether it was for him or the recruits he couldn't tell, and the man was already moving on. “Inform the others that we’ll be beginning immediately. Lieutenant Zoe can assist you with your initiation. The Warden-Constable and I will take whichever room is left.”

The rogue nodded and pointed. “Fourth right from the  center parlor was free last I checked, Ser. And the Lieutenant’s help will be much appreciated,” she said with a wink at the mage. “We’ve got ourselves quite a firecracker, Hange.”

“Just my kind of person!” Hange clapped, small sparks flying from her fingertips as she followed after Petra. “Who do we have?”

“Remember that huntress from the mountains? The one caught sneaking extra rations out of the supply wagon that night?”

“Ah, who could forget Blaus! Ten silvers says she’ll make it through the Joining, if just to get to the banquet—NOT that anyone is actually betting!” the mage shouted over her shoulders to make sure her superiors heard.

“Better not be,” the Warden-Constable  said under his breath, as he watched the two collect themselves before disappearing behind their assigned room. “So…”

He swallowed his words as Erwin tugged at one of the folds in his cloak. “Beautiful technique here,” Erwin murmured, sliding his finger down the length of the fabric. “And on the correct side too…I’m impressed.”

The elf shrugged. “I pay attention when you tell me things, sometimes.” The mage chuckled.

“Clearly,” Erwin praised, cupping the elf’s face so that he was all too close to the ice in the mage’s eyes. Heat made a second collar around Levi’s neck as the mage leaned in to be just shy of his earlobe. “I’ve always encouraged you to listen to Hange’s advice after all,” he whispered.

 The Commander passed the elf the goblet and drew himself back before moving towards the heart of the room. Levi’s expression fell and a different  shade of heat touched his ears. “Sodding Magi….” he hissed after Erwin, “When did she—”

“She didn’t…well, not directly,” the mage corrected and plucked at his own cloak. “That style of knot yours is cinched with is signature of the _Laggard Dragon:_ a favorite of the Magisters of the Imperium.”

The elf’s grimace deepened. “So, I share my bed with a _shem_ AND I’m wearing elven slave trader garbs?Wonderful,” he huffed. “I wonder if there’s anything else I can do tonight to further piss on my heritage.” 

Erwin fished a small alchemist vial out of his pocket. “If it’s any small consolation, you do look quite handsome,” he said.  It was, even though the elf would never admit it. “Though, if you truly wish, I can retie it for you. Give you a proper Ferelden _Mabari Tail._ ”  

“So, I get to go from  a Magister to a dog, huh?” Levi drawled.  “I don’t know, Erwin, is there any difference?”

“Don’t let Mike hear you say that,” the mage chuckled. “Dogs have hearts.”

Levi joined his Commander’s right side and for the first time,  could admire the symbolic flare of the “wings” across their chest and back Hange had mentioned. Gone were days of the grey gryphon riders of the old order, they now had but cloaks and stories to remind them of the loyal beasts that had once stood stalwart at the Wardens’ side.  Rumors of rookery sightings  cropped up every now and then, but were always investigated to no avail. 

He looked down  at the grotesque chest and scoffed.“Yeah…well, so do Archdemons apparently.” Truly, it was a sin that magnificent creatures such as gryphons were thought to be extinct while at least two known Old Gods yet lived.

“Seems that way,” Erwin admitted, fingers skimming the surface of the corrupted blood to pull back a thick tether.  It swirled and climbed over the tips of  the mage’s gauntlets until he guided it over to the vial; it climbed in compliantly. He stopped and pocketed the volatile blood, blue eyes still seizing the sight of the pumping heart.  “Six years come Spring,” the mage muttered. “Maker’s breath, its been almost six years.”

The elf tilted the silver chalice up at him. “Happy Anniversary, I guess…”

Erwin shut the lid and twisted the blade-like lock up into the mockup of the adorning skull. The low thrumming of the heart quieted to a concealed, softer beat. “It is an anniversary,” the mage considered while the pair ambled to the door Petra had pointed out. “Given everything that happened, it’s surprising to hear you call it  ‘happy.’” 

Levi shrugged. “It was a mess, but some good came out of it.”

“Oh?”

The Warden-Constable jerked his head to the night-dyed drake skin scabbard slung over the mage’s waist. A carved hilt the unmistakable hue of dragon bone peered over the top. “That’s when you found your sword after all.”   

“So I did,” Erwin hummed in agreement, an odd little frown creasing the sides of his eyes. He reached for the door’s handle but paused around it. “There are times,” he said touching the scaled scabbard with the other hand, “when I wonder if I should’ve left it where I found it: have it never know Darkspawn blood…never know the taint.”

“Then it would’ve sat in shit and never known its purpose,” Levi responded, eyes flickering to the mage’s gauntlets. _Or your touch._ “That’s worse than any Blight.”

Blonde hair bowed against the wood of the parlor door, and the elf watched the back of the Commander’s white tucked wing slip down with a sigh. Then, as if a string held the man’s spine, the mage’s neck and shoulders pulled themselves upright and pushed through the door.  

The recruit waiting inside nearly toppled over trying to get to his feet when they entered. The stored crates and furniture had been jammed along the sides of the already small room in an attempt to create the illusion of free space. It was when the boy recovered his balance, fist red and clenched tight over his heart that Levi got a look at his face.

“Shit,” the elf cursed gently.

“Warden-Recruit Eren Jaeger,” the boy introduced, a second salute flying across his chest, “from the Shiganshina Outskirts, Sers!”

“The Outskirts…” The Commander sounded horrifically impressed, “then you…? No…” the man dipped his head apologetically, “Forgive me, Warden-Recruit.” 

“No, Ser, you’re correct,” Jaeger said, the words a near growl. Taut lines of muscle strained from his lower jaw down the sides of his neck. “I saw them. I saw them seep out of the wilds and into our village like sewage. Saw them crawl over the walls and seize Maria’s Vigil. I saw them _rip. my mother. apart…_ and now, I would see the Darkspawn _wiped_ from the history of this world. _”_

There was a tremor in the recruit’s curled fingers that ran through his back teeth so that the elf could pick up just a hint of chittering. The words were heated, but said with a restrained calm: a rage, easy and normal as breathing. 

Erwin’s voice cooled the room. “Your determination is both admirable and necessary,” he said. “What happened at Maria’s Vigil is an unfathomable reality that we failed to prevent.  To come to the Wardens with such resolve after witnessing an atrocity so great… Eren Jaeger, it is an honor to oversee your Joining.”

Eren blinked and his rigid posture melted boyishly at the praise. “Thank you…Ser. I-it’s an honor to have you here for it, Warden-Commander.” His eyes swiveled over to lock with the elf’s. “And…for Warden-Constable Levi, as well for this opportunity.”

He saluted again and the elf nodded at him. What Erwin said had been true: With rumpled muddy hair and dogged green eyes, Eren Jaeger was truly an embodiment of Ferelden grit. Levi passed the chalice back to Erwin, and wished that determination alone  could stay the Blight’s corruption.      

“Warden-Constable,” chimed the Commander’s voice, “If you would…”

“ _Join us brother,”_ the elf recited without further prompt. “ _Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.”_

Two vials emerged in the mage’s hands, both dark and viscous: one foul and weeping, and the other sweet, impossibly beautiful when they joined together at the bottom of the cup. 

“… _And should you perish_ ,” he continued as Eren took the goblet from the Commander’s hands, “ _know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten…_ ” 

Levi’s eyes  dragged over from the recruit to his Commander’s right shoulder, where beneath the pomp layers of robe and chainmail lurked an unwashable reminder of the final verse: “ _And know that  one day, we will join you.”_

When next he saw the boy, Eren’s head was tipped back, the chalice raised to his lips.  Neck muscles showed themselves again as he swallowed down his revulsion with the rest of the concoction. He finished slightly hunched,  the palm covering his mouth steadily climbing up his face until both hands held his head; teeth were grinding so loud now, they looked ready to crack. It was when  Eren’s knees buckled that the Warden-Constable shook his head and reached for the dagger at his belt. 

The cool prod from  one of Erwin’s gauntlets stopped him, and Eren Jaeger’s body continued to shiver and tremble as corruption coursed through it…until it ceased. The boy’s posture swayed for a moment, but straightened partially upright.  Globes of sweat pricked the underside of his neck and hair. “That…that’s it right?” the boy asked with one closed eye, still clutching his stomach.

Levi’s hands fell relieved from  his scabbard to his sides. “That’s it,” the Commander whispered, placing a hand on Eren’s unsteady shoulder.  “How do you feel?”

“I feel…” Eren panted, his features softening somewhat with abashment. “I feel…really hungry?” 

Erwin’s laugh seemed to ease the budding anxiousness over the recruit’s features. “Good, that’s actually normal!” The man encouraged Eren with a small squeeze at his shoulder before bringing the hand up as a fist over his own heart. “This is your first official salute as a Grey Warden, Eren Jaeger: Welcome to Rosenwall.”

His Constable mirrored the salute, much to the joy of Eren’s green eyes, blinking, as if chasing off sleep. A different kind of shudder ran over his arm as he brought it up to return the gesture. “Ser! Thank you, Sers! I’ll do my best to serve the Wardens however I can. You have my word.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Erwin smiled, retiring his salute. “Get something to eat and rest up, Warden Jaeger. You’ve more than earned it.” 

The newly named Warden beamed at the title, but quickly schooled his features to make himself worthy of it. “Yes, Ser! Thank you again, Commander. Constable,” he said, saluting once more at each before departing for the dining hall. 

Tantalizing smells Levi  recognized from the kitchen wafted into the room. “You coming, Erwin?” The elf caught the door and held it open for his Commander. “Erwin?”

The man stooped to pick up the discarded chalice and turned it over in his hands. His eyebrows knitted in concern. “From the Shiganshina Outskirts…” he murmured to himself before looking up at the elf. “Do you think he saw… _it?”_

Levi squinted. “A Titan? Who can say,” he shrugged and turned his head out towards the jovial noises beginning to spill in from outside. “I wouldn’t ask, not tonight at least. Let him have some semblance of peace.”

“Of course. You’re right,” the mage agreed, joining him by the lit doorway. He eyed the elf over and smiled. “You seem rather pleased, Constable.” 

“Do I?” 

The elf wore a small grin despite himself.  In the midst of the bustling activity from the banquet, he caught a glimpse of Warden Jaeger making his way to an empty table to await the unsettled fates of his fellow recruits. The moment he sat down, however, every veteran present in the hall stood, and saluted him as one of their own. 

“What can I say? Tonight, I’m glad I’m not a betting man.” 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eren’s probably OOC: I didn’t smash caps lock once.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Punishing yourself won’t change any of their fates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Slowly necros this fic like a Nevarran mortalitasi*

“You’re allowed to enjoy yourself too, you know.”

Levi wedged the toe of his boot between the door separating them from mirth of the Grand Hall, and Erwin’s voice distinguished itself crisp and cool from the warm joviality sneaking around the partition the elf had created. The laughter, the mug clacks: for a moment, everything was in accordance with the spirit of a proper homecoming banquet. Among them, Warden Jaeger sat at the recruitment table, and his platter with boiled potatoes spilling over half of  a sage-roasted quail sat as untouched as the vacant seats next to him.  

Levi scuffed his foot back.

“Am I?” he asked, watching the lone recruit slide out of sight behind the shut door.

“Yes.”

The Commander’s back faced him, gauntleted hands hovering just above the wall lamps lining the entertainment parlor. Erwin whispered an unfamiliar word and the flame fizzled into smokeless sleep.  He moved onto the next one.

“Punishing yourself won’t change any of their fates,” Erwin said.  He touched the tip of the flame and it expired in the same manner as its predecessor had, though not before accentuating the hollows pinching the skin the along the mage’s cheekbones. “It took me…years to accept that.”

The elf scoffed. “And you sound so thoroughly convinced now, too…”

It was low, but Erwin laughed: the sparks puffing up from the adjacent candle a small testament to its sincerity.  Levi understood very little  of the Fade’s nuances, and even what he _knew_ was that it was somehow connected to dreams and emotions—and that those were the source of a mage’s power. His Alienage’s Chantry missionaries were never short on tales of apostates—magi not formally trained in one of the Circles—setting whole towns ablaze and accidentally calling upon fierce tempests after emotionally charged encounters. 

The near six years he had spent in the company of the Grey Warden’s select magi had been six years longer than he had ever anticipated of ever being associated with one, let alone two of them.  Hange’ s tells were as boisterous as she was: the braziers outside the South Tower often either at the height of a bonfire or snuffed completely, depending on the way the night’s research was going. Erwin’s were much more discrete, and spoke of a control fitting for his talent for  frost spells.  Whether their differences could be chalked up to personalities or the cultural expectations of northern and southern magi, Levi wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, both had earned a quiet admiration from him for not being the demon-dealing emotionally unstable nightmares the missionaries had painted them to be. 

Erwin’s laugh trailed into his words. “Did you know that back in the Circle it was considered good luck to kiss a templar before a particularly difficult examination?” he asked,  turning his head to ensure his Constable was paying attention. “Though, that may be because their reliance on lyrium supplements meant an apprentice’s tongue might snag a quick magical boost to benefit  their own abilities. We used to call it ‘mining the vein.’ ” 

Levi’s expression curdled. Admirable creatures they were, both  had also never ceased in finding new ways to disgust him in their own manner.

 “Sodding magi,” the elf breathed, unable to cull the disbelief out of his voice, “that is absolutely revolting, Erwin.”

“I assure you, it was more of an expression than it was an action…most of the time,” he said over his shoulder, smiling when he caught the elf in the middle of an eye roll. “Anyway,  I doubt such a practice would  benefit our cause in this case.”

The elf scoffed again. “Perhaps next time we’ll have all the recruits kiss Darkspawn prior to their Joining for good luck.” He lolled his head back against the door and groaned as the image of a wild haired mage beaming in the firelight took hold of the front of his mind. “Andraste’s Ass…Hange would love that. Probably offer to take the whole Joining again for it.”

“Ah yes. She wrote  rather enthusiastically about the new samples during our correspondence.” 

Erwin muttered something about the shape of Hurlock’s incisors before quelling another flame. The elf grunted as he thought back on their earlier conversation. Of course that was how Erwin had known about the Darkspawn. Hange had admitted that much to him earlier. Suddenly,  his earlier accusations of blood magic at knifepoint felt that much more humiliating.  “Maker willing, she’ll be able to discover something…”

“Something,” Levi repeated, because that truly was all they could hope for at this point.

 History of Thedas’ enigmatic Blights was as long as it was spotty. The majority of information came from journals and other first hand accounts, and people were rightfully more focused on surviving than record keeping. Yet, it remained frustrating that after all this time, they knew so little of their foe; and even less of the ritual that bound them to them. 

He glanced over at where Erwin had propped the goblet from Warden Jaeger’s Joining on the divan  lounging in the corner. The room’s stored furniture had been meant to double as an accommodation for post-Joining survivors, as the physical and mental demands of the ritual often left recruits fatigued, and at times, unconscious.  Levi frowned. Jaeger’s reaction had been exceptionally unusual…or was it?

 How the ritual had originated, why it could kill one of the world’s most talented knights but spare his maimed squire was still a mystery.  Five Blights and come and gone, and the Wardens could still only draw their picks based  on intuition alone. One baffled Warden once wrote in the margins of one of the few surviving recruitment logs that he believed the Maker Himself couldn’t tell you who would survive the Joining. Those were the kinds of odds that no one, aside from those partaking in one of Eld Jinn’s “survival” bets,  was fond of.

And he had convinced at least seventeen of them to roll the die tonight.  

 When next he looked up the mage was beside him, the last remaining wall lamp’s flame roving over the metal grooves and dips in his gauntlets; his brows drawn together, mouth set somber. 

“What is it?” the elf asked.

“Do you…” Erwin sounded as though he was holding back a cough, “remember yours at all?”

Levi’s eyes flit from goblet to gauntlet. “My…Joining, you mean?”

Erwin nodded and the elf shrugged. “Not particularly. I try not to think about it,” He paused, eyeing the flame idling over the man’s hand. “Why?”

The mage muttered the same low spell he had been chanting earlier into his fist, and it was as though the word had been a simple command to a servant to draw the curtains over the bedroom window. The entire room fell into darkness, save for the banquet’s braziers outside.

Before even his keen elven eyes had  adjusted, Erwin was kissing him: soft and slow, tongue never venturing beyond his teeth. He returned it in kind, forsaking the fevered pecks  and nips from before to revel in its sweet, almost chaste intent. Their earlier fret had been one of longing after absence. Yet even the honeyed remains of _Celene’s Sunrise_ still lingering between them after they broke apart couldn’t hide the taste of a different sort of desperation now. 

“You keep that up, you’re going to wrinkle my cloak,” the elf teased dryly, and the mage’s low laugh sunk into the crook of his shoulder along with the rest of him. 

“We can’t have that then,” Erwin said and punctuated the words with a long kiss to the base of the elf’s ear, flushing it all the way to tip. Levi jerked his head away, ears catching the muffled cheer rolling beyond  the door. Had it been this low before, or had it quelled because someone’s charge didn't make it?

And then he felt the slow trail of  a crooked gauntlet slide down his cheekbone. “Not to worry,” Erwin soothed. “You have no reason to worry. You did well, Levi.”

“It’s not that,” the elf swallowed before amending, “not  _just t_ hat. Just thought you needed to be a reminder that not all of us are wearing six layers of fur and chainmail to hide our…intentions.”

His eyes swept up we he could make out of the mage’s impressive armor before tugging at his leather collar. Formalwear was tight enough without any additional pressures. 

“Quite right,” Erwin agreed, a brief, hard squeeze to the elf’s shoulder. The rogue stepped aside for his Commander as he reached behind him for the door. “Even so, Levi, permit yourself some levity tonight if you can manage,” the man said with a smile that would’ve only looked more wretched in proper lighting. “Nights like these are only going to become fewer. The Darkspawn aren’t at our doors yet.” 

Levi blinked at the sudden influx of light, though when he regained his vision, he thought Darkspawn would’ve made a more pleasant sight. 

Even Erwin seemed somewhat taken aback, his shoulders squaring in front of a Chantry robe that had faded gently with age. Its owner had been less fortunate, and the sweltering heat of the kitchen had taken very little pity on her already ruddy complexion.  

“Good evening, Revered Mother,” the Warden-Commander addressed with a small dip of his head. 

Philomena’s smile was as thin as the spider veins around her eyes. “Warden-Commander,” she replied, thick Orlesian tongue pressed between her teeth.  “Forgive me for seeking you out Ser, I had not seen you yet at the banquet and feared the dishes weren’t sitting well with you.”

“Not at all, Mother Philomena. I dare say the Darkspawn themselves couldn’t keep me from a bowl of ah… _Boeuf Aux Carottes is it?”_ Erwin inquired and the woman’s giggle was  girlishly high beyond her years. 

“Yes, indeed! I’m impressed, Warden-Commander, that you could make out such succulent flavors underneath this fog of dog sweat, but I suppose I  should expect nothing less from the senses of a true Orlesian man.  I  weep to inform you that the garlic had to come from our personal stock, but everything else is freshly imported from the markets of Val Royeaux. The butcher assured me that the cow herself would’ve been able to trace her lineage back.”

“Probably to the royal family…” the elf mumbled. His shoulder earned a swift jab from one of the Warden-Commander’s gauntlets but  the waver in Erwin’s smile made the quip worth it.  It was silly but he couldn’t fault the Revered Mother for her enthusiasm. Beatrice had said something to that effect earlier, full smile around a serving spoon filled with dark broth: 

 _We’re serving the Warden-Commander’s favorite. The Revered Mother insisted we import all the ingredients from Orlais for a true taste of home._

Nor could he fault Erwin for his reprimand  once he saw Philomena blink down towards him, her  full  lashes pulled and curled to the side in a manner that was reminiscent of a pair of antennae.  

 _“_ I assure you, Revered Mother,” Erwin soothed, “you do not need to concern yourself with us any longer. The Maker Himself would be jealous of the feast you and the other Sisters have prepared in honor of the Warden-Constable’s homecoming. You have our sincere thanks.” 

He saluted her as he would’ve any of his Wardens, and moved to step past her with polite nod. Philomena, however, sidestepped in front of him, thin fingers pressed to her lips as though praying.

“Your compliments are most appreciated, Ser. We are but the Maker’s humble servants after all…however, I neglect I have not been entirely truthful with you,” she added, sounding as abashed as her Orlesian pride would permit. “There is another important matter I wish to discuss with you.” She blinked down at the elf, “Alone.”

Chainmail clinked as Erwin squared his shoulders again, though his movements looked far stiffer this time. “Any matter that can be discussed with me can be discussed in front of Warden-Constable Rivalle, Revered Mother.”  

Levi scoffed quietly to himself. Erwin took great care in emphasizing the Orlesian pronunciation of the elven last name, as if it would somehow appeal to the Chantry sister; somehow change who and what he was.   As  he expected, Philomena shook her head.

 _“_ Maker forgive me, Warden-Commander, but I must insist,” the woman persisted. “This is a private matter—for your _ears_ only.”

It would’ve been poor word choice, had it come from anyone else.  A quarter of an age ago, the Maker’s “humble servant” had donned much more extravagant robes and served the whispers of the Val Royeaux’s nobility. Thin veins may have replaced where strings would’ve upheld an ornate mask, but there was no hiding her experience in knowing that colorful quip  would’ve earned her court approval if said to the right audience…

Which neither of them were.  The insult may have been  directed against the elf, but a quick glance at Erwin told Levi that he, of the two of them, was the  most appalled. His expression betrayed none of his disgust to the sister, who could not see the way the mage’s hand  was no doubt blanching to the same  color of the bone white pommel under his gauntlets; her red headscarf hiding the beginning chill that prickled the short hairs at the base of Levi’s neck. 

“The Revered Mother has an excellent point, Commander,” the elf interjected, “I’m sure the Maker would disapprove of us both wasting our time on the matter, after all.”

Both humans turned their heads in owl-like synchrony towards him, and Philomena’s features sharpened in an equally predatory fashion. “Warden-Constable, if you believe that the work of the Maker’s servant’s— _His_ work—is truly a ‘waste of time,’ than from the bottom of my heart, I do pray that He showers His mercy on you.”

“If it means an end to this conversation, Revered Mother, rest assured: He already has.” 

“Philomena,” Erwin said, holding a hand out between the two of them before the woman could retaliate further. “We will speak. Alone,”  he added with  a careful glance out towards the banquet.  Several of nearest seated Wardens poked their heads curiously above their ale mugs at the impromptu gathering of the Keep’s first cleric and their superior officers.

The Revered Mother snapped a stray peppered curl back under her scarf with an indignant sniff and muttered something low to the mage in her native tongue. She marched out without a second glance to the elf on her way towards the grand staircase. Erwin watched her go, his back facing Levi so that the elf could see the painful marks the armored tips had made through his scalp as he ran his hands through it.

“I’m not apologizing,” Levi said, tone more petulant than he had intended. For a rare moment, he desperately wished for Hange to be present for assurance and to to b all too proud of his spat with Mother “Meanie.”

Erwin shook his head but didn’t turn around. “I would neither expect nor want you to,” he said, and then after a pause: “If anything….I—“

“Maker’s cock, Erwin, don’t pull this _shem_ guilt shit now,” the elf sighed. “Let her be pissed at the heathen elf for a while. Better that then to have the Chantry suddenly start the ‘Maker-Forsaken Mage is leading us on the path to ruin’ again.” He nodded down to where the spellblade sat above the mage’s thigh. “ _You_ …were pretty pissed back there though.” 

That forced his attention back: thick brows up momentarily before returning to their usual furrow. He said something in Orlesian. “ ‘Death before Dishonor,’” he translated a beat later, and his hand fell  to rest against his blade’s hilt. “It’s the code the Chevaliers live by as a reminder of  what their own fighting tactics should entail, as well as…what is worth fighting for.” 

The elf snorted. “Lucky you being a mage, then. A duel between an aging Chantry Sister  and Rosenwall's Commander of the Grey over a knife-ear’s honor…now that would be one for the ages,” he said. 

Erwin let out a small relieved chuckle.

“Besides,” Levi said, prodding the silver sigil fastening his blue cloak. “That whole death before honor thing? Doesn’t really suit us. Doesn’t really suit you.” 

“No.” He said and the Commander’s eyes smiled at the momentary dream where his emerging talents for the arcane hadn’t derailed his Chevalier training. “No, I suppose it never really has.” 

 Levi nodded. “Better not keep her waiting any longer, Erwin,” he mumbled with a jerk towards the ornate staircase. “It’s a fasting day for them.”

“Andraste shield me,” the mage muttered. “Do try to partake in some of the revelry, Constable. It’s your Homecoming, after all,” he added before taking a few steps forward.   

“Oh? I suppose I can grab a few weak ales while I’m here.  Maybe drown my jealousy  over being excluded from an oh so private discussion of what shade of rose the chapel curtains should be.”

The mage laughed and the brazier coals cackled with him as he passed. Levi heard the trusted voice slip into fluid Orlesian once at the Revered Mother’s side. The pair strolled off up the steps, their accents drawing the attention of a few Fereldan blooded Wardens, who shook their heads, only stopping once they noticed the elf’s attention.

Levi was thankful the woman didn't want him present, and was thankful to see that the Maker’s mercy had also extended beyond shielding him from idle conversations: Warden Jaeger no longer sat alone at the recruit table, though it would be a stretch to say someone had joined him.  The former Templar-in training, now officially Warden Kirstein, couldn’t have  seated himself further from his fellow Warden if he had tried. He sat at the very end  on the of the opposite side of the banquet, shoulders angled and hunkered over a wooden bowl of stew. From his position, Levi couldn't tell if the warrior’s black-eye still lingered, but  suspected that his unusual sitting posture was an answer to his curiosity. 

Acknowledgment from Jaeger was equally absent. If there had been any sort of greeting between the two of them, Levi had missed it. The large, uneven bites into two of the boiled potatoes on his plate meant that the Blight-induced hunger had overtaken some of his anxiety, but not by much. He had preemptively set out two empty plates on either side of him, while green eyes hunted the perimeter of the room to see if they would remain that way by the end of the feast. 

“Stubborn little bunch we wrangled up this year, eh Constable?” An equable voice to his side said. It was serene to the point its suddenness  didn’t even startle the elf , and the profile of its soft smiled owner even less so. “Remind me a little bit of your filly.” 

Nanaba stood with the same grace that Levi had seen riding past his coach earlier, except now the tufts of fair hair had been  slicked back so that it shone with the same silver hue of their  formal breastplate. Two foaming mugs took the place of where the reigns of his lithe palomino and Nanaba’s massive, but equally placid gelding, had been held. 

“I heard Alida caused all of you trouble earlier,” he said, unable to curb his smile.  Nanaba only grinned back. 

“She was no trouble. Well, not for me, at least. Ser Auruo may have a different tale to tell  you,” the warrior chuckled. “Rift’s always been good at keeping the others in line. ‘More stable than the stable itself’ the breeder told me, when I asked about the name. Apparently it was for a little white mark he was born with over his right eye. He’s grown out of it—-as if the Herald himself  had shut it. Hardly notice it now.” 

“Herald or not, I doubt this is something Alida will grow out of.” Levi’s mount’s temperament had caused him some concern as she was beginning to grow older. A “s _tubborn filly”_ still held a certain amount of charm to it; “willful mare” was just terrifying. 

“Most likely not,” Nanaba agreed, “You do have a habit of picking the fighters, Constable. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing in our line of work.”

Quiet rippled through the banquet once Keith Shadis stepped out of one of the doors. He was still imposing as ever, even dismounted from his armored warhorse. It was the first instance Levi could recall seeing the man before hearing him, and with a silent relief, saw that his initiate followed right behind.  Their newest Warden yawned and stretched out a pair of gangly arms before whipping one back across his chest to return the departing salute Shadis gave him.  Rosenwall’s Master of Horses didn't budge and the recruit had to  steadily slide his arm down to the proper position over his heart before the veteran Warden nodded gruffly. His initiate all but bounded over to the feast table.

“He doesn’t look well—Shadis, I mean,” Nanaba commented, kind eyes following from where the initiate had situated himself in the middle of Wardens Jaeger and Kirstein. “He usually doesn’t come to these things any more.”

The elf shrugged. “Understandable,” he said as the silence followed Keith and his single mug of Avaarian Ale out of the  Banquet Hall. “He’s got the right idea, though.” 

A smile crinkled Nanaba’s eyes. “Grab an ale and bail, you mean? Sounds like a plan, but not before you have a drink with me and the Lieutenant, ” the warrior laughed, nudging his arm with one of the cold metal mugs. “Help yourself. You can join the three of us over at the corner table behind that pillar. I’ll be over in a bit.”

He accepted the mugs. “Three?” The Warden-Constable squinted, but Nanaba was already two lopes past him and winding between  the crowded tables with the same grace they rode and spoke. 

 Rosenwall’s second Lieutenant, Mike Zacharias, sat with his back against the table. The heel of a freshly polished sabatron  was propped against the base of the marble pillar Nanaba had directed him towards, and  the man could’ve been mistaken for a pillar himself. A Fereldan whose blood was older than some of the stones of the Frostbacks, Mike was a glimpse of what Erwin could’ve been had his Orlesian heritage not refined some of his countrymen’s  more historically broad features. Even then, Mike was exceptional, and while many Fereldans boasted of a pure lineage that linked all the way back to the now scattered Alamarri tribes, his evidence manifested itself within his flesh.  

On the off chance someone did dispute his Fereldan birthright, the massive war hound strewn across the warrior’s lap would’ve gladly answered for him. He was a sword wrapped in tightly woven fur: all muscle beneath a short grey coat that splotched brown at the end of his muzzle and down his forelegs. Though age had sunk his black eyes beneath the wrinkled folds of skin, the mabari, affectionately doted on as Mudpie, still had a bold nose, a keen sense of smell, and a master who was almost as equally sharp in both regards. One whiff at the elf’s approach sent the nubby tail thudding against the tabletop.

“Constable,” Mike sniffed, reaching out for the ale without looking up. His hair had grown long over his eyes to match the length and color of wheat after rain.

“Mike.” The wooden bench moaned underneath Mudpie’s weight as the dog sat up to investigate whatever food had just passed to his master without  his approval. The hound snorted at the drink’s fizzing bubbles.

“Sorry, not for muddy puppies,” Mike consoled with a sympathetic pat to the dog’s head, and the mabari flopped forward against his master with a large huff. He lifted the mug to the elf and the ruddy hue marking the warrior’s cheeks hinted this wasn’t his first of the evening, “Welcome home.”  

Levi nodded and met the clink of his mug with his own, but did not drink. “Which one were you?” he asked.

“Far right. Wagner,” the Lieutenant managed between a gulp.

“Did he make it?”

Mike took another swig as though he hadn’t heard, and Levi followed the motion with his own. The watered down ale was too weak on his tongue to prevent him from recognizing the warrior’s avoidance as anything but an answer. Mudpie whined loud and long, pressing cold nose to colder chainmail. 

“Quickest I’ve ever seen too,” Mike recounted, setting the half drained mug behind him. “Hadn’t even finished drinking it all and he was already gone. Thank the Maker for small mercies, I suppose.” He scratched behind Mudpie’s ears, heavy shoulders sagging.  

Thomas Wagner had been from Petra’s hometown in Redcliffe. He was an unimpressive prospect, but he had been eager, and more importantly, willing to leave behind his town’s hillside farms in pursuit of something greater than shoveling druffalo shit for the rest of his life. Now, within the fortnight, the Wardens would return his remains to the family: ashes, in accordance to Andrastian teaching, and within a silverite urn that was set to be the most expensive piece in their household. A small gift to the family for their son’s sacrifice, though its contents would be irreplaceable.

Mike rubbed the stubbled budding on his chin. “Hannah Diamant was another mess,” he sniffed, “but I’ll let Nan fill  you in on that one.”

“On what?” the other warrior chirped, appearing from behind the pillar with a platter teaming with foods plucked from various tables and two more mugs of ale. Mudpie was up again, full grey rump shaking  to match the excited speed of the tremor of his tail. “Sorry about the wait. Wanted to make sure I snagged some choice samples for this handsome devil over here. If you’re a good boy, he’ll let you have some too, Mike,” Nanaba grinned, ripping a chunk of meat off a lamb hock.

“Ouch,” the hound master feigned, an affectionate lopsided smile forming behind the lip of the fresh mug Nanaba passed him. The mabari snapped up another thrown morsel, pink tongue peaking below his jowls. His dark eyes followed Nanaba as though he had never seen anyone more magnificent.

 “Curious thing though,” Nanaba frowned, setting the  full platter down on the other warrior’s lap, “There was no sign of any hard rolls anywhere. Sorry to disappoint, Love,” they said, with a gentle pat to Mike’s heavily armored knee. 

“Your fellow Lieutenant might have had something to do with that,” Levi admitted. He expected Hange to be halfway across the courtyard by now, sleeves lumpy and stuffed with freshly baked bread to supply her and Moblit with tonight’s improper nourishment. “Remind me to ask one of the Sisters to deliver something substantial over to the southern tower…and a keg for Warden Berner.” 

Nanaba swallowed a bright red grape whole and nodded. “It’ll have to be Sister Beatrice then: Philomena’s gone Andraste knows where with the Commander, and Sister Eliza is already busy—”

“With Hannah Diamant, ” Mike finished, the name echoing deep inside his mug. 

Nanaba squeezed his knee with their hand. “She’s alive,” the warrior assured Levi, but very little relief  touched the words. “I oversaw her Joining and she held up very well…but that boy Franz— from the Marchers? He…wasn’t so lucky.”

 _Two._ The elf shut his eyes and the ale sat in his stomach the way two coppers would hit the bottom of a well: a drop,  a ripple, an unanswered wish, and then they  were gone.

Franz Kefka had been recruited in a costal port  a day’s ride from Denerim’s. He was the second son of a minor Starkhaven house, who had been promised to a girl that, Levi surmised, was not Hannah Diamant. According to him, the two had stowed away on merchant ship, and saw the recruiting camp of Wardens as an opportunity to be together.  Their story had swooned part of his party, and he had been good enough with a crossbow and she a dagger to sway vote over the more cautious voices that feared repercussions for absconding with a missing noble’s son. 

He rested his fingers over his open drink. “You said Warden Diamant made it through?”

Nanaba fidgeted against the wooden bench. “Physically? Yes, but…that’s hardly a victory.  I imagine she wishes otherwise,” they sighed. “She grieves, Constable, and that’s something none of us can fault her for. They asked Sister Eliza to console her, but I doubt she’ll find solace in an empty sermon about how her lover waits at the Maker’s eternal side for her. I know I didn’t.” 

“Nan,” a  low voice that could’ve easily belonged to the mabari or his master rumbled, and the warrior’s head tilted back against the tabletop. 

“Sorry, I sound much more bitter than I have a right to,” they said, stretching over the other warrior’s lap to pat large hound’s head, “and you’re the last person I need to be complaining to, Constable.”

He shook his head. “No offense,” he answered and hoped he didn’t look too concerned. The quiet and curt dwarven  sister was an odd choice to be a grief counselor. Beatrice seemed far more approachable and comforting, but the more the elf dwelled on it, the more he realized it wouldn’t have mattered. He doubted even Bea’s smile would’ve cheered him up had she been there for him after Isabel or Furlan. A sip of ale stuck to the inside of his throat. If it had been _Erwin…_

“Ah, we’re here to celebrate the ones who make it through just as much as honor the ones who don’t,” Nanaba interrupted, righting their posture to smile up at the elf. “And your successes are multiplying by the moment.” 

They gestured to where on Warden Kirstein’s  left, former apprentice to First Enchanter Quinn, Marco Bodt  sat dressed in fresh dark blue robes, eager and chatting beside his fellow tenant of Kinloch Hold. The former templar had relaxed  considerably, chin in his hands and leaning over an empty stew bowl with a fox tailed shaped grin at something the mage had said. The swelling over his eye seemed somewhat lessened now. 

Hange and Petra’s Charge had also joined the table, opting for a seat directly across from Shadis’ initiate, where the two appeared to be engaged in a contest over who could fit the most boiled potatoes in their cheeks without swallowing. A few places over, Warden Jaeger had noted the contest with mild interest, but had nevertheless taken the precaution of distributing some of their table’s food onto the two plates at his side.

“Any word on Warden Ackerman?” Levi asked, eyes still fixated on the empty seats before Mike’s laugh forced his attention back.  Nanaba’s smile revealed a slight over-bitten grin. 

“Quality over quantity, eh? After all these years , you’d think I’d know better than to try to cheer you up,” Nanaba said, and pelted his shoulder with a two red grapes. Years, however, had taught the elf to side step the rolling trajectory of any free rolling food around Mike’s insatiable war hound.  “Nice footwork there,” the assailing Warden complimented as Mudpie took off towards the crowded maze of  banquet tables. “A second later and you’d be on your ass as fast as Warden Bozado was earlier.”

Mike exhaled loud and hot over his second mug. “Anything,” he seethed, “I would’ve given anything to have seen ‘Ser’ Auruo on his ass.”

“Sorry Love,” Nanaba consoled with a gentle pat to his thigh before snatching another grape off the platter. “ There will be plenty more opportunities to see him make an ass of himself in the future, I guarantee. But to answer your question regarding Ackerman, Constable, I’m not sure, but one of your Pegasus Run riders might know better.”

They frowned and swept a few stray blonde bangs to the side, “Or at least more so than either of us. The situation with Diamant kept me somewhat out of the loop.”

“Shultz took Kefka,” Mike sniffed, and Levi noticed Nanaba shift next to him.

“Is that so…?” the warrior’s airy voice replied, but Levi doubted the Lieutenant noticed or knew. 

Whereas Nanaba had been one of the most adamant of the couple’s recruitment, Gunther Shultz had taken the opposing side with equal fervor. The risk of upsetting even a minor house was too great in his mind, and he had even suggested returning the missing young nobleman in exchange for favor with his family. “Shultz will get to send him home after all, I suppose,” they muttered before draining the cup of its remaining contents and setting it behind them.

Levi set his down next to it. “I should go speak him and the others then. Thank you for the drink.”

Nanaba began redistributing his unfinished drink between the two of them, and lifted both of the mugs up at him. “Always a pleasure, Constable. Remind Jinn that he owes me fifteen silvers from our last game, if you think of it.” 

“And remind ‘Ser’ Auruo he’s an ass,” Mike said. Nanaba laughed and shoved him, making his cup slosh over the top.

“And Levi,” the Lieutenant added, a foreign urgency in his voice that made the elf’s ears twitch.  When he turned around, the man’s face was angled back so that he could  make out the dark, muddy irises underneath the shaggy field of hair. “Make sure _he_ ’s eating.”

It felt like another copper had been pushed down the elf’s throat, but he nodded, and the man lowered his head back down into his food and drink. 

 _Messere Zacharias informed us that the Commander had requested to take his meals in his study._ Through the crowded hall of feasting Wardens, Levi picked out Beatrice’s cheeky features as her words resurfaced in his mind. Her head was still covered, but she looked more the part of a barmaid than a pious disciple of Andraste as she slipped winks and drinks while grabbing decimated platters of food.  _The treys looked hardly touched when we collected them._

The Antivan sister noticed him with a gap toothed grin that she swiftly curtained behind pursed dark lips. Her brows narrowed underneath her cowl and she jerked her head towards the stack of empty soup bowls in her hand before toting the stacks of dishes down to the kitchen cellar again.  She had not forgotten her request for her role in exchanging the misplaced apple barrel. 

A quick scan around the room’s tables revealed the stew to be a popular choice of the evening. Enough that every bowl he saw  had been polished clean of the rich dark broth he had smelled in the kitchen below, and his hopes for thanking the sister for her assistance dwindled with each row of  full bellied Wardens he passed. 

“Another round then?” 

Eld’s voice frisked by his ears. He sat two tables over from the encased Archdemon’s heart, his armor heavier and his hair pulled back tighter, but voice still light and easy as the campfires he had grown accustomed to lounging by while on the road.

Gunther Shultz pushed a black fan of playing cards over. “Please no,” his fellow warrior and supply runner pleaded. “It’s really not right given the occasion. The books recovered from the ruins of Weisshaupt said that veteran Wardens used to kneel the entire vigil of a Joining in recognition of the sacrifices of those  lost.”

“It’s a homecoming, Gunther. Trust me, there’ll be Wardens on their knees tonight,” Eld grinned,  shuffling the discarded hand  back into the deck. “And it’s a damn shame that the flush on your face wasn't in your hand last game, or you might’ve won,” he added, further  reddening the cheeks of the other Warden.

Auruo Bozado yawned and adjusted the silk yellow sash over his shoulders. “Yes, yes, I’m in,” he said, tossing two coppers  into the small pile of coins accumulating at the center of the table. He passed over his cards and leaned on his elbows. “And those  practices are from the past are useless, Gunther. There’s a reason the Order reformed and did away with silly rituals such as that. Don’t you agree, Petra?”

The smaller rogue to his right frowned a little. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s still important we remember the things the Wardens of the past stood…or knelt for in this case, I guess. I mean, our Order is older than the Chantry for Andraste’s sake. Oh, and deal me in too, Eld,” she said, depositing her own contribution to the pile.

“Y-yes! Well said as always Petra, my dear,” Auruo coughed. “Took the words straight from my lips. It was just as I was about to say: although some rituals may _seem_ trivial, they are so very much important to the Wardens’ history and culture. We should not abandon the old ways just because they seem insignificant to us now.” 

Petra tilted her head, “Of course, that being said—something like kneeling for an entire night does seem excessive, even for ceremonial purposes.”

“Oh, precisely! What does a morning of chaffed knees earn the Wardens anyway. Besides—”

“Oi!” Eld said, slamming his stein  on the table so that the coin pile chimed with it. “Sometime before my Calling, please.”

“Same as last time,” he announced, dealing three fresh hands of edge-warped cards out.  “As before, and in honor of tonight’s ceremony, ‘The Knight of Roses’ card will be our designated ‘Angel of Death.’ Keep your hands above the countertop and your sleeves where I can see them. And don’t forg—Oi, Constable!” The blonde youth gestured the elf over, “Fancy a game of Wicked Grace with your four best riders?’” he asked unabashed. 

 “Maker’s breath, Eld,  do you hear yourself?” Gunther sighed. He straightened back his shoulders and saluted over his Great-Grandfather’s breastplate . “Warden-Constable,  please forgive this blatant partaking of debauchery on this solemn night—”

“ ‘ _Debauchery?’”_ Eld howled, “ _Messere_ Morality over here certainly wasn’t preaching when he was up by a sovereign six hands ago.”

“Only because you said you needed another player,” the other Warden snapped, cheeks reddening behind his mug. “And it was two sovereigns…”

One of Petra’s hazel eyes peaked from behind the cards in her hand up at the elf. “I know…I can’t speak for him directly, but the Warden-Commander has never encouraged a dour atmosphere for these things. A Warden’s life is too short for that,” she said, discarding a card from her hand. 

“Is that why you’re over here then?” Eld said, grin crawling up his cheek, “Did the Commander have to order you to have fun?” He gestured to the accumulating pile of bowls, mugs, and plates beside him. “I could clear  the seat off for you. Hell, you could even borrow one of the fancy pillows Auruo’s sitting his ass on right now.”

Across the opposite side of the table, Petra’s bottom lip curled white  under her teeth to contain her laughter. The briefest flash of fury registered on the man’s face before his “fine breeding” schooled the insult.  “Tch. At least when I say I’m sitting on a ‘400 thread count,’ people know that it’s a pillow, and not the nickname of some tavern wench in Starkhaven.”

“Ah, she was a sweet girl, though.”

“Besides Jinn,  the Warden-Constable personally requested I make an appearance tonight, yes?” he added with a handsome smirk, and Eld’s eyes and mouth rounded.

“Oh. Oh, yes of course. Forgive me,” the blond youth apologized with a tug to his earring. His grin widened up at Levi. “I’m sure the Constable made a special trip over here just to check on your ass, _Ser_ Auruo. And as you can hear, Warden-Constable, it is in fine working condition. ” 

“That’s enough!”

Gunther stood halfway behind his place at the table before either  elf or archer could reply. “The Warden-Constable has far more pressing matters to deal with this evening than play Wicked Grace or concern himself with your…ass!” He ran a hand over the top of the shorn dark hairs covering his head, and Levi was reminded up the uncut length of his own. “Now then,” Gunther breathed. “Warden-Constable, did you have something you wished to speak with us about?”

“Legacy Warden” were almost always the first words that followed Gunther Shultz’s name. Records recovered from Weisshaup’s ruins revealed that his Great-Grandfather, among his other ancestors, had served the Order prior to its reformation. Neither seeking asylum nor in fear of incarceration, the man had been one of the proud few who simply volunteered for service after his wife had passed and his children had wed. In their homeland of the Anderfels, the Wardens had held a certain prestige, similar to those at Sina’s Watch now. 

Like his ancestors, Gunther had joined to honor his family’s history, but Levi doubted the tales of gryphons and glory the warrior had been fed as a child matched his experiences. Even as he stood a proper soldier in front of him now, his elven superior noticed the red rims of skin beneath his eyes: a mixture of exhaustion and loss he attempted to mask behind the bravado of a faithful Legacy Grey Warden.  His eyes passed over Jinn and Aurro,  part of him wanting to ask about the fate of their own charges, but wondered if they too were coping in their own manner.  

He was almost thankful for the sudden cascading clatter of metal and glass that sprung up behind him. Eld and the others  glanced down at the bench to ensure  that his tower of various dirty dish wares was still in place before looking towards the actual source. For a pulse, the elf regretted his gratitude for the distraction when he remembered the great stack of platters Beatrice had been carrying. He was relieved to see the cheery Sister in the doorframe to the cellar kitchen, head half turned towards the direction of the recruitment table.

Warden Jaeger was standing, several large platters warbling against the stone by his feet, their varied contents of fruits and half eaten fowl bones scattered about him. The elf’s ear twitched at the sharp whistle belonging to Mike, and Levi immediately saw Mudpie freeze his honed gate towards the spilled food. The large hound obeyed with only the slightest huff of protest, looking as entranced as the young Warden was.

She would’ve been a shadow on the pillar had she not worn the red scarf: dark and sleek from her hair to the fur trimmed leather jerkin. The figure beside her was smaller and less imposing in  a light grey robe; one hand rubbed the side of his temple while the other raised to greet Jaeger with a wincing smile.

The boy’s arms appeared caught in an odd stasis at his side, as though unsure whether their purpose was to wave or embrace the newly entered Warden Ackerman and Arlert. Once the two reached him, however, each hand naturally settled on one of their shoulders. A boyish smile was strewn wide over his face, and even across the room, Levi could make out the words he mouthed:

 “We made it.”

“Constable?” someone at the table said, though he was unsure of the voice. Each trusted face he had seen in the courtyard awaiting his arrival earlier stared at him, various degrees of concern playing across their features.

“Deal me a hand,” he said, dropping two silvers from the  coin purse under his tunic onto the table. “Commander’s Orders,” he added and fret left their faces. Eld began displacing the stacked dishes under the table without any further prompt. 

 “You hear that, Gunther?” he finished, a coy wink as he waved a fresh fan of cards in front of the other warrior’s face. “We’re required to show the Constable a good time: Commander’s orders.” The legacy warden grumbled but snapped up the cards as Eld gave a phony high giggle that would’ve shamed any Orlesian noble hunter.

 Auruo eyed the two silver coins in the copper pile. “I say, I do believe our Warden-Constable has upped the ante. Are you quite certain that’s wise move, good Ser? They say you should never bet against an Antivan,” he smirked.  

“Half- _Antivan,”_ Petra corrected, rolling her eyes as she collected a card to replace her discarded one. “But somehow, one-hundred percent an ass.”

“You wound me, dear Petra!” the rogue gasped. “Regardless, it’s only fair we match something of equal value for our special guest. I have a few freshly fletched silver arrowheads if you’re intrigued. Finished them this sunrise and I—“

“That stew,” the elf said, pointing to the faint white puffs drifting out of the wooden bowl at adjacent to the betting  pile, “whose is it?”

Auruo blinked. “Mine, ser.”

“Untouched?”

“Practically,” Eld chimed in, frowning down at his cards. “The good Ser Auruo spilled piping hot broth on his fair legs  whilst enroute to his mouth earlier, so it dost look like he shat himself now.”  

Auruo’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, thank you for that charming interpretation, Warden Jinn.” 

“The stew then,” Levi continued unfazed. “I have the winning hand, I get the stew. Fair enough?” 

The table exchanged confused glances to one another, but all nodded.

“Of…course, Warden-Constable?”

“If you’re sure…”

“Is it…is it really worth that much?”

The elf nodded. In the corner, he saw that Bea had made her way over to recruitment table, chatting and congratulating the trio of new Wardens as she helped them gather the spilled plates and food that had toppled to the floor when Eren had stood up. She touched the forehead of the former blonde apostate  in concern, and he smiled but shook his head at whatever she had asked. 

“So, speaking of shitting your pants,” Eld gracefully segued, “I almost had to join the ‘I-Pissed-Myself-At-a-Joining’ Club’ today. Thought you might find that interesting, Ral, Ser Auruo,” he said, earning a unified glare from both rogues. “Because I walk into the sodding side room with my goblet thinking I’ll be seeing a familiar face to initiate, and what was waiting for me? A sodding qunari. Female too, I think?”

“You think?” Gunther squinted, and Eld held up his non-playing hand. 

“I didn’t have time to really assess…everything, ok? Damned thing leapt at me with murder in its eyes—”

“Definitely female then,” Petra muttered.

“—and took the cup from my hands without me ever reading the rite. She drank, passed out on the armchair for a while, I checked to make sure she was breathing, and then I left.”

“Tch. Typical evening for you, then,” Auruo sniffed. 

“But I’m not going insane, right?” the youth said, turning towards Levi. “There was no Qunari with us recruiting was there? How’d the Commander rope that one in?”

The elf shrugged. “I’m told details are still hazy,” he answered. He took another card and hoped his displeasure seemed directed at his new draw.  The Qunari—Ymir— had survived the Joining, and he was sure The First and the other Sina’s Wardens might be the next ones pissing their trousers. 

“It’s funny actually,” Petra smiled. “Lieutenant Hange and I had a guzzler, too. We…We actually hit Warden Sasha Blaus with the door when we came in,” she giggled. “She was pressed up against it, trying to smell the food through the crack. And Hange—Hange goes and tells her that the faster she drinks this goblet, the faster she can go eat. So, she downs the whole goblet, but doesn’t swallow!”

Petra cupped her hands along her face. “She’s standing there: cheeks turning blue  as a nug’s balls in winter, and looking at us because she’s not sure what to do. I mean, we all remember what it tastes like— and she looked like she was seriously considering spitting the whole thing out. But then she takes one whiff of the food outside, closes her eyes and gulps. She fainted so fast, we thought she didn't survive. Maker forgive me, the relief alone when popped both eyes open to ask if she could go eat now was enough, but coupled onto of everything that just happened…Hange and I just about died ourselves, I swear I almost—”

“Pissed yourself?” Eld grinned, whipping his free hand up from the table just seconds before a small throwing dagger bushed his knuckles. Its twin danced between Petra’s fingertips.  

“ _Yes._ Anyway, that’s my story for the evening.” 

Gunther scratched his chin. “Seems odd that a Warden-Lieutenant would encourage such behavior, though.”

Auruo yawned and stretched for another card. “Heh! If you think that’s odd, you really don’t know Lieutenant Zoe that well, and—Petra, please!” the archer laughed nervously as the other rogue planted the remaining dagger into the table between his fingers, “not so close, my dear!”

“You know, come to think of it, you haven’t said a word about your recruit.”

The half-Antivan waved a dismissive hand. “What’s to say? It was largely uneventful. I will not bog the Warden-Constable down with such boring details.” 

“Two dagger throws by Ral by the fourth draw, though,” Eld clicked his tongue. “That usually doesn't happened until the seventh.  It appears your ‘stew bet’ is causing tempers to flare, Constable. Nevertheless, I hope that we’re providing a sufficient amount of entertainment for you…or at least better than the Commander. Surprised he’s not back by now.” 

The grand staircase looked golden in the hearth light, but empty of any activity. Erwin had been gone for a while, attending to business that knife ears were not to be privy to. “I’m sure the Revered Mother has much to discuss with him,” Levi said.

Eld contorted his face. “But it really creeps me out, you know? The way she’s always making goo-goo eyes at him,” he breasted his cards and leaned forward towards the table. “Someone told me she was a highly sought courtesan before the whole Chantry thing…and while I know it was back when she was younger, I can’t ell but picture those skin saggy arms and tweezed eyebrows strewn across a divan in waiting.”

And various groans and moans of protests erupted around the card table. 

“Regardless of anyone’s opinion of the clergy, I think everyone at this table can agree: we all could’ve done without _that_ enchanting mental image,” Gunther said, rolling the  cold ale mug over his forehead. 

“Here, here,” Auruo agreed, drumming his fingers around the throwing knife. “Philomena cares far too much about appearances to risk such a glorious taboo on multiple fronts, anyway. They’re related, you know.” 

“Who are?” 

An indignant hybrid of Orlesian and Antivan words tumbled off the rogue’s lips. “Your mother and your mutt for all you Fereldans seem to care. I mean, the Revered Mother and the Warden-Commander.” 

“Divine’s Ass they are!” Eld barked. 

“It’s true,” Auruo sniffed. He crossed his arms over his gold-trimmed dress leathers and squinted. “Cousins, of some sort, I believe. Not first cousins, mind you—but second, I think, and by blood. You know that chubby sister—Beatrix?”

“Beatrice,” Levi corrected. He noted the sister returning up the steps from the kitchen, skin sleek from the heat and physical labor.

 The archer nodded. “Yes, yes her! I was talking to her at some point before we left two months ago. We have mutual kin back home, though nothing nearly as close as the Warden-Commander and the Revered Mother. An aunt of mine is acquainted with her sister as well. Ah, such a small world, yes?”  

Eld snorted. “Even smaller considering all the Orlesian inbreeding.” He scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Man, I’m glad I don’t have any kin anywhere.” 

“I’m sure there are some brothel workers who might be able to dispute that,” Gunther grunted, and Eld laughed.

“Doubtful. Can’t really do the whole family thing post Joining.”

“There’s less of a chance of conception, but not impossible. You should really  be more careful.” 

The warrior frowned and took a sip of his ale. “Yeah…maybe so. How about you Constable? Got any kin for us to meet, someday? Proud mother? A charming sister, maybe? Really, the less charming the better.”

“Maker’s breath, Eld…”

Beatrice had propped herself against the shade of one of the walls, her peach robes wrinkled and head tilted against  one of the pillar.

“Four of them, would you believe,” Levi said, laying his hand flat on the table, “All of the them Serpents named _Greed, Avarice, Pride, and Deceit.”_ He stood up and reached for the dwindling steam puffs from the stew bowl when Eld stopped him.

“Quite a good hand there, Constable,” the youth grinned, “but you’ve yet to see ours, and the game isn’t over until someone draw ‘The Knight of Roses’ tonight.” 

“Ah,” the elf tucked a long hair behind his ear. “But it’s impossible to draw the ‘Knight of Roses,’ isn’t it?”  he said, eying the circle of Wardens. “There’s not one in the deck, and each of you has a copy of it on your person and has been playing it whenever you believe you have the strongest hand.” 

He picked up his prize. “But, none of you have played it yet, so none of you are confident that your hands are any good at the moment, yes?”

They were quiet for a moment, each locking eyes with one another before smirks simultaneously broke under Petra, Eld, and Auruo’s lips.

“Good game, Constable,” Jinn beamed, flipping over “The Knight of Roses”  from the collar of his shirt. Petra and Auruo pushed their copies forward.

“All this time.”

 Gunther’s voice was quiet. His hand clasped and folded over his mouth. “Are you telling me all this time, all of you were cheating?” He shook his head. “Warden-Constable, I must apologize on behalf of my fellow Wardens’ conduct—and mine,” he sighed, pulling a card out from the inside of his mug. He dipped his head in apology, but found only broader smiles encircling him. 

Eld clasped him on the shoulder. “We have taught you well, Warden Shultz.”

“It’s not really cheating if everyone’s doing it anyway,” Petra winked. 

“Yes, yes!” Auruo chimed in, “think of it as…a new rule! An additional strategy!” 

The legacy’s eyes widened before slinking down into his open palms. “Maker’s breath…” he breathed, “you’re all terrible, terrible influences.”

“So…one more then?”

“Drink or Game?” 

“Yes and yes. And worst hand has to stand on the table and belt out all four verses of _Sera was Never.”_

 _L_ aughter and copper bits flared up as soon as he departed their game.  Asking for a supply run from any of them tomorrow was out of the question: fatigue and the morning’s repercussions from the alcohol ingested tonight would end up turning the ride out to the nearest costal town into some sort of  half-drunken contest.  He would go himself, if their inventory had anything pressing. A day’s ride would suit Alida. After two months on the road, his riders had earned their rest.

As had the young lay Sister, who had curled herself against the wall adjacent to where he and initiated Warden Jaeger. Bea twisted the red head scarf in her hands, dark hair and face dotted with sweat. Her eyes were shut and her back was  slanted in such a manner Levi suspected it was the only thing keeping the girl on her tired feet.

“If you need ale, I need just a moment to get it from the cellar,” she murmured, wiping her forehead with the red cloth.

“I’m actually here because I need to deliver a promise,” he replied, and the Sister’s brown eyes shot open as she seized the sight of the elf. She stumbled to stand straight.

“Constable!” Beatrice wheezed, hands flying to push the wiry curls from her face, “Maker, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…and hands…and feet—everywhere, really,” she  sighed. Her eyes fell on the brown stew cradled against his arm. “And hello there! Is it as good as it smells?”

“You can tell me,” he said offering up the bowl to the sister. Her bottom lip drooped and she looked over him towards the grand staircase. 

“You are certain?” she whispered, her hands stopping before she took the bowl.“Oh if the Revered Mother catches me though…”

“I’ll keep watch for you,” the elf assured and the Sister took the Orlesian stew from him. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m expecting someone from that way, anyhow.

It’s probably not as hot as it should be served, but if you need a spoon, I can—”

He stopped when he turned to see the bowl tipped back against the Antivan girl’s lips. 

“Ah, forgive my manners, Constable,” Bea said with her wide sheepish grin. “I am so dogged tired, I’m finally  eating like one too.” She wiped her mouth with the edge of her sleeve and laughed. “At least I’m finally starting to fit in with the Fereldans, sí?” 

“I’d say you’ve earned it having to do all this by yourself.” 

Beatrice took another slurp of stew and sighed. “I was lucky I wasn’t totally alone,” she admitted with a little smirk.  “You may not have noticed her, but Sister Krista was downstairs…though, I suppose she’s not technically _Sister_ Krista at this point. She was a huge help in Eliza’s…absence.” 

The elf nodded and Bea returned to her stew. It seemed both of Erwin’s unconventional recruits had made it through their initiation.  Questions surrounding the former sister’s sudden transfer and conscription still remained, as did her puzzling Qunari companion. It was cruel to think, but the Warden-Constable had to admit that they would’ve saved themselves a great deal of headaches had Ymir not survived. 

“I am…sorry,” drifted Bea’s voice, startling in how small it sounded under the warm revelry around them. “I heard about the ones who didn’t…make it.” She shook her head. “We’re not Wardens, so I know we’re not supposed to press into these private matters…I asked to help move the bodies out to the crematorium, but the Lieutenant told me I should focus on serving at the Banquet, but there’s so much about this I don’t understand…”

“I’m afraid I don’t either,” he said, and the disappointment in the girl’s eyes was palatable. Taint from freshly joined bodies was still very volatile, and the Wardens were forced tread a delicate balance of keeping their clergywomen safe, while also maintaining the Order’s secrets. For the same reason, the Sisters were forbidden to clean the southern tower, no matter how much Hange’s workspace needed it. 

“Mother Philomena says the not knowing…the not fully understanding is a big part of Faith,” the sister continued, finger idling over the embroidered golden sunburst on her robe. “And that’s something she is not shy about telling me  I need to work on.”

“And I as well,” Levi said towards the empty staircase. Bea smiled sadly.  

“We’re to administer Final Rites to the bodies at sunrise. I will do my best to honor those recruits that didn’t make it through. Especially if there were anything like those three dears from before. Eren, Armin and Sophia, was it?”

“Sophia?” the elf squinted. 

“The girl with short black hair, sí? Armin mentioned he was having difficulty hearing her. Though, it was a bit loud over there—especially after the plates spilled! Poor Eren said his leg gave out when stood up to greet them…he took half the table with him!” she giggled. 

He frowned, but nodded until Bea’s amicable chatter softened into the rest of the  background noise. Sophia Ackerman…the name fit like robes over chainmail; somehow it didn’t feel quite  right attached to her. There had been something strikingly familiar about the girl in battle right down to her form with a pair of blades. Hange had laughed when he had mentioned it to her, and said that the lingering blood smear over her face was reminiscent of the legendary tales of Kirkwall’s supposed Champion. 

Still, the rogue’s speed and precision was unrivaled at her age. Now with the empowered effects of blighted blood running through her veins, she would be  a tempest against the Darkspawn. If it was as Erwin surely expected, her sword would return hundreds, thousands of those wretched creatures to their gods before the sixth Blight was done. But for all the speed and strength she possessed, she would never be able to outrun or overpower the corruption ticking down beneath her flesh. Neither could he.  

Beatrice leaned forward. “Oh dear…Constable, did a fight break out?”

He grunted but didn’t look away from the stairwell. “It’s been known to happen.”  Alcohol didn’t always ease the tension of a Joining. 

“But…from the recruits?”

 A half circle had formed standing around the newest Wardens’ designated table. Once again, Warden Eren Jaeger was standing up, hand cupped over his nose and mouth as though he had taken a punch.  He waved off both of his friends’ concern, eyes half closed in a nod before relinquishing three quick coughs in succession.

A thick tendril of blood, too dark, too unnatural cut down through his lip.

Next to him, the Sister said Levi’s name in the same hissing whisper candles made when Erwin extinguished them. 

“Bea, I need you to go find the find the Warden-Commander for me,” he said, “As quick as you can,” he added, and the girl had thrown on her cowl and darted towards the second floor without another word, leaving behind her half eaten bowl of stew. 

Sometime while sidling through the rows of tables, Levi noticed Eld had stopped belting out the second chorus of his drinking song. Nanaba was the same blur outside his window,  Mike the convincing illusion that had walked past him earlier; and Warden-Jaeger was was the steel eyed and marble faced recruit who wouldn’t make it through tonight.

The former apostate had been the first to notice his approach. “Warden-Constable!” he said as the flock of fledglings dispersed to let the elf through.

The mage stood, smoothing his robes from kneeling. Beside him, Warden Jaeger was curled against Ackerman’s side. Half strangled gasps slithered out of his throat and back in again. His leg was tucked behind him in an unnatural angle, and more dark blood had dribbled over the fresh proud armor. 

The girl’s breaths were almost as strained as his. Her forehead was bowed against the top of his head, dark hair forming a curtain around the two of them. “Fight…”Levi heard her wheeze as he drew closer to the pair. “Please, Eren. Fight.”

The boy turned his head so that the elf could see the fire green eyes flicker out with one last warm wheeze, and the low heartbeat from the center of the room felt closer to Levi’s chest than his own. 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot to thank everyone for their kind comments and kudos thus far--I have no idea where I'm going with this thing so I really appreciate it so much ^_^


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